by William Ray
Eventually, he arrived at Gus’s table, and his broad ranine face curled up in a grin that might have seemed menacing had the gob not reached over to shake his hand. “Mister Baston! So glad you could make it out. Everyone’s been quite excited for the Mazhal dancer.”
Bemused, Gus shook the gob’s meaty paw and marveled at how disproportionately enormous Salka’s hands were to his short stature. The place certainly seemed abuzz, so Gus nodded and said, “You’re quite the celebrity here yourself, it seems. Do you actually own this place?”
Salka laughed and replied, “No, no. Well, the club I own of course, but I just lease the space in the building.”
“I’d never have expected people so enthusiastic for a gob club owner. No offense.”
“No, it’s quite alright. It was a lot of work for me to get to this point,” he said, then gestured around the club and added, “When I started as a novelty act, they all jeered when I came out on stage, and the ladies would swoon in terror. The club owners used to make me dress like the savage Rakhas that people expected. Surprising them with sweet music was part of the act, you see.”
Gus nodded and was surprised when Salka suddenly bubbled forth into melody. It was not a song he knew, and he quickly realized it was just a wordless alternating scale, but delivered with such sweet puissance that the neighboring tables all paused in conversation and gave a smattering of heartfelt applause when the goblin’s trilling had ended.
Impressed, Gus clapped as well, nodded to his host in appreciation, and said, “I can see why they called you Honeyfugler. In the army, we heard goblin songs fighting the tribes in Rakhasin but never anything like that.”
Only after the words were out did it occur to Gus that admitting to having served in the army shooting at goblins was probably not the smartest thing he could say to a gob, and so he hastily added, “That was incredible. You’ve got an amazing talent.”
Salka grinned at the attention, giving flattered gestures towards the appreciation all around, then turned back to Gus, “Thank you, thank you. Years of practice. Eventually I bought the club, and now I run it and bring in entertainments like the one you’ll see tonight. I found her while reviewing a few novelty acts to replace my own and have since paid quite a bit to import a few more like her over from Mazhar. If the Exposition brings in as many people as they say, there’s quite a fortune to be made running entertainments for fair goers. I might become the next Maurice Sylvester”
“Or Miss Aliyah Gale?”
The gob laughed and said, “One can dream!” Something caught his beady yellow eye, and Salka raised an outsized hand towards a neighboring table in salute then said, “Mister Allen, you must come over.”
The man in question was a skinny fellow, his short brown hair kept professionally nondescript, and there was not much else that could be discerned about him in the uniformity of dinner dress. He briefly looked a bit miffed to be called out but rose and ventured over towards the table.
“Mister Baston, this is Eli Allen, and Mister Allen, may I present Gus Baston. I believe you two may share a profession, something to discuss over dinner. I’m afraid I must attend to the entertainment, however. Please excuse me.”
Perhaps Salka was just trying to consolidate the seating for dinner since there had been no one else at Allen’s table. Gus would have assumed Mister Allen had company coming; otherwise, why had he sat obliquely to the stage rather than facing it? That was odd, and something about Mister Allen seemed imminently familiar, although nothing Gus could quite place.
With that abbreviated introduction, the goblin wandered off to complete his circuit of the room, shaking hands and greeting custom on his way toward the stage. Gus glanced over his dinner companion, trying to place why he seemed so familiar. “Mister Allen, a pleasure. You’re not working on Doctor Phand’s disappearance, are you?”
Allen shook his head, saying, “You can call me Eli. No, haven’t been assigned to that one. Is that why you came to town? Last I heard, Crossing thinks he’s still back west someplace.”
“Assigned?” The word was a hint, intended or not. Only an organization could assign work, so Allen was part of some group. Khanom’s police might employ an inspector or two, given the size of the city, but despite any similarities of technique, Gus doubted many would consider a detecting-inspector as being in the same profession as an inquiry agent. “You’re one of Drake’s Detectives then? What brings you here?”
The ‘detective’ chuckled and said, “I’m just here for the hoochie-koochie dance.”
Gus puzzled over what that meant, but before he could ask, Salka took to the stage, eliciting a smattering of applause.
“Gentlemen and ladies, we are honored to welcome you tonight to the Viridian!” That simple greeting in the goblin’s rumbling bass elicited a surprisingly enthusiastic applause, with several hoots that seemed more suited to the showgirl saloons of lower classes. “Tonight, we transport you to the exotic palaces of Sakloch in distant Mazhar, where the lovely Miss Saneh performs the traditional dance of her ancestors!”
With a wave of his broad hands, the goblin stepped away, and the curtains parted as he left the stage. A breathless hush fell across the room as the music began. The melody taken up by the hidden band was entirely unfamiliar and employed the strange twangs and hoots of foreign instruments that had not sounded at all during the dinner service.
Patent lights washed over the stage, many pouring from behind it to illuminate pale rose fabrics draped above mid-stage, forming a second array of curving curtains with darker stripes of red where they overlapped. The silhouette of a voluptuous woman emerged, tightly dressed from what Gus could discern of her curves through the hanging silks. She raised her arms and began a sinuous twisting of her body to the exotic rhythm of the music.
Gus had been to bawdy entertainments in brothels and saloons and had even first met Emily at the raciest of those—a show where women in bare petticoats and bloomers sang comically naughty lyrics to the admiring howls of their patronage. It had been a warm-up act followed by bidding upon the show’s performers for more intimate services to follow.
As he watched that feminine shadow writhe behind silken curtains, those shows seemed utterly tame by comparison. She twisted back and forth, her hips swaying in as brazenly sexual motion has Gus had ever seen beyond the actual act of coitus itself, and though hardly a prudish sort, at first blush it made him vaguely uncomfortable to watch it in such rarefied company.
Public-spirited citizens had shut down shows far less explicit than this for corrupting public morals, yet here in Khanom, the city’s upstanding stared rapturously at it.
A cymbal crashed, the music intensified, and the dancer’s movements matched pace. The silhouette arms gracefully traced through complex curvatures, but Gus could not pull his eyes from the shadowy echo of the dancer’s hips. Again, the cymbal crashed, and in a deft motion, those arms reached through the curtains of silk, and Miss Saneh emerged before them, eliciting gasps and a smattering of applause from her audience.
She wore nothing or as next to nothing as Gus had ever seen a woman not wear. Her costume was far more abbreviated than any woman’s actual underthings he had ever seen, and by consequence, what limited modesty it provided seemed entirely immodest. A brasserie of glittering gold covered her chest, and a scaled loincloth of matching sheen hung from her hips, most of her smooth skin bare for all to see. And as she writhed on the stage, her black curls were flagrantly unbound.
Her skin was dark, not the ruddy sun-kissed skin of farm women but a deep bronze that Gus had seldom seen. Gemmen hosted visitors from Mazhar, but he could not recall having ever seen one of their women, and seeing Miss Saneh emerge from that rose-hued silhouette, his breath was stolen away. He wondered if she were so extraordinary there or if the famed harems of her homeland were filled with such women.
Eventually, the music swelled to a crescendo, and with a final crash of cymbals, her body arched back in figurative ec
stasy as her dance ended. After an initial smattering of cheers from her audience, she curled upright, bowed her head, and held out her arms in a submissive sort of gesture that was no doubt taken from her homeland, and upon that, the crowd exploded.
Men and women rose to their feet, enthusiastically applauding her performance, and Gus could not help but join in. Her dark eyes peeked up from her bow, and she gave a heartfelt smile at the adulation, which only redoubled the crowd’s enthusiasm. The curtains fell closed around her, and as the applause faded, it was replaced by the rumblings of excited conversation at the tables, mixed with renewed calls to service for drink.
Gus lowered himself into his seat, shocked by the unexpected performance. He took a deep draught of his cocktail and wondered what Emily would have thought of all this. The bawdy house he met her in had seemed so risqué at the time but now would always be absurdly tame by comparison.
She might actually be pleased to know that. As far as Gus knew, her newfound religion included no direct prescriptions against such things, but that would probably only last until some new charlatan caught her attention and sold her on the merits of another brand of asceticism hidden just off the margins of Caerleon’s holy book.
Gus was so lost in the dazed tumble of his thoughts that he completely forgot about Eli Allen until the man said, “That’s really something, huh? I’d heard about it, but this was the first time I saw it.”
Annoyed at being pulled from his reverie, Gus looked across the table at Eli and said, “I guess Drake’s doesn’t pay you well enough to go to these sorts of things very often.”
Eli smiled, about to reply, but Gus cut him off saying, “So that means you came here on a case. ‘One eye is always open’—that’s what it says around that lizard eye in all your ads, right? You’re not here about Phand, and you were sitting over there by yourself, in after me but still before most of this crowd and angled where you could watch me—someone’s got you looking in to me? Who?”
Had Salka not pushed Eli over here, probably just to consolidate tables and accommodate more guests, Gus might never have spotted him. Eli Allen was good at his job, which Gus hated to see in a competitor.
In response to Gus’s accusation, Eli just shrugged, gave a meek smile, and said, “You’re pretty sharp. I won’t lie, yeah, I’m supposed to keep an eye on you, but clients are strictly confidential. I’m sure you understand.”
Rolling over the possibilities in his head, Gus said, “Honestly, I’m not that interesting, and there aren’t that many people who’d waste money shadowing me when they could probably just pay me to tell them whatever they wanted. That leaves … Parland? He still thinks I’m holding out on him.”
Parland either thought Gus was selling the sword to someone else or thought he had come here to recover it. In either case, that meant the Crossing hadn’t tossed his office yet, since the petitioner would no doubt have heard if they’d found that thing just sitting in his desk drawer.
The man from Drake’s shook his head and grinned. “Mister Baston, you know I can’t tell you anything about that.”
“Well, I can assure you his sword isn’t here in Khanom. This trip has nothing to do with him,” he said. Gus frowned as he watched Allen nod sympathetically without offering any other response—exactly the sort of thing Gus would do if trying to get him to divulge more. He wasn’t sure if Parland suspected he was holding out and was paying Drake’s to retrieve the sword, or if he just hired them to watch and make sure Gus wasn’t selling it to someone else. “Tell you what though, if you’re keeping an eye on me, I can make it easier for you if you can do me a simple favor.”
“What’s that?”
“You guys have agents all over the place, right? I’m looking for a tall blonde woman. Very … strapping. She left Gemmen a few days back in the company of three others. One’s an older guy. They’re probably travelling under assumed names, but she’s tall enough to be distinctive.”
“You want me to do your job for you?” The Drake’s man grinned, then shook his head before Gus could elaborate and said, “Tell you what, as a courtesy to you, I could ask around, let you know if I hear anything.” He ended with a meaningful look, letting Gus know there was a price for this ‘courtesy’.
Gus grinned and replied, “And I, of course, will let you know before I leave town or anything. You’ve been watching me; you know I’m just interviewing people on a case, so you can tell Parland it’s all fine. He’s been a good friend to me, and I’ll get him that sword as soon as I lay hand to it.”
Allen started to answer, then paused as a steward approached their table, carrying a large bottle of wine. Coughing softly in apology for having interrupted, he declared in pompous tones, “Sirs, Mister Salka’tok’tok’ton would like you to accept this bottle of Sarone ‘89 in toast to your good health.” The strange staccato of the goblin name rolled from the steward’s lips with unmistakable ease of practice—a clear display of the goblin’s unusual social standing. “He hopes that you have enjoyed the show and sends his earnest wishes for success in your endeavor.”
Gus looked around the club, but Salka was nowhere to be seen. Was he just that happy to have someone searching for Doctor Phand? It seemed overly generous, but never one to refuse a free drink, Gus replied, “We’d be delighted. Poor us a few glasses, and we’ll drink to his health and success.”
They did just that, and toasted him again as he took to the stage to introduce another act. The other performances that evening were far tamer musical presentations, and no other dancers took the stage. For the finale, Miss Saneh performed her dance again and was greeted again with tremendous applause and another standing ovation at the conclusion.
While a heavy drinker on most occasions, the Garren wine had a kick Gus did not expect, or perhaps being free, he simply drank more of it. He staggered back to his room at the end of the evening and collapsed into a pleasantly dreamless unconsciousness.
The next morning, he was disturbed by a businesslike rap at the door. Judging by the sun in the windows, it was late in the morning, and when he opened the door, a steward in hotel livery waited in a pose of stiff attention that would have done Gus proud in the army.
He presented a small square of paper, which Gus took before slamming the door back in the man’s face, forgetting to tip and only belatedly realizing that was probably ruder than he had intended. Shrugging it off, he looked down at the message: blond & PA by road, E
Gus blinked several times, trying to shake off the stupor of sleep as he digested the message. How had Eli Allen managed to wake, find that out, and telegraph him a note after last night? He was so stupefied by that feat of endurance that it took him several moments to grasp the import of the message. If that was the false Alice Phand in disguise, then Doctor Phand wasn’t here yet!
~
“Magnar’s Widow Confirmed”
The Grand Sultan of Mazhar held a gathering earlier this week for various exiled dignitaries of Tulsmonia. While currently possessing no access to their titled lands, many of Tulsmonia’s ousted leaders made their escapes with great personal fortunes, and those have found an eager host in distant Mazhar. The notable highlight of this gathering was the presentation of their exiled queen, Andra Berengar, who spoke to them at some length. Some had doubted that the Sultan’s guest was truly the widow of the magnar of Tulsmonia, but the exiled Tuls who emerged from the recent meeting have enthusiastically endorsed her identity.
Tulsmonia’s ambassador-in-exile in Mazhar immediately requested the great lady take up quarters within the embassy building to return her to her homeland symbolically until it could be managed in fact. The Sultan, however, has requested she remain a guest of his palace a few more days, so he might welcome her more properly as a visiting sovereign. A great ball is being arranged in her honor, with festivities delayed three days’ time, to allow all Tuls refuging in Mazhar opportunity to arrange their attendance.
– Khanom Daily Converser, 14 Tal. 3
89
~
- CHAPTER 21 -
Anxious for the end of her journey, Dorna woke well before dawn and discovered her route into town was already a bustling thoroughfare of wagons bringing produce into the city. She had arrived with Doctor Phand at the appointed campsite last night and could see the lights of Khanom already visible on the horizon, but the plan had said they must wait until morning, so they did.
Guiding her carriage around slower traffic, she was greeted by several farmers along the way who looked eager to see new faces along their morning route. With two horses and no cargo beyond the two passengers, she easily outpaced the various farmers, which curtailed their efforts at friendly conversation but left her obliged to exchange more frequent good mornings.
It made her feel uncomfortably conspicuous, but if strangers were unusual along this road, she supposed they must seem less sinister in the gloom of early morning than had they arrived at night.
She finally pulled from the shared thoroughfare just outside of town, venturing their carriage along an overgrown trail into the forest. Looking over at her passenger, she saw him slightly stir, and she quickened their pace.
For the Oblivion, she needed Edward Phand half-drugged, cogent enough to walk, and not yet so cogent as to resume the infernal groaning. She had last dosed him per the Master’s schedule, but she worried that somehow the Master might not have fully anticipated the vociferousness of the man’s stupor.
The trail was bumpy, and Edward Phand groaned softly as they jostled about, but their destination was not far off. Beneath the shadow of the trees, she drew the carriage to a halt near the white stone arch on the side of the mountain that marked their entrance to the Oblivion. To anyone else, it was yet another pale Elven monument—an arc of stone set within a steep embankment of earth.
Dougal was waiting there in his Warden’s greens to take charge of the horses and the carriage, and once he did, Dorna gratefully climbed down and stretched her back. The two of them pulled down the drugged Edward Phand, and despite her distaste for Dougal, she was grateful for the help. Here, amidst the sharp smell of pines, she began to feel some of the stress of their journey melting away, despite her growing dread of the much shorter, much more dangerous path still before them.
