by Braden, Jill
“Could you tell the Devil – ask the Devil, if he could send someone? I’d be grateful.” While her words were polite enough, QuiTai could hear what it cost Lizzriat’s pride to speak like that.
QuiTai had no doubt that gratitude was grudging at best, but it explained Lizzriat’s reluctance to summon the soldiers more than any supposed friendship between them. “No harm will come to you for mentioning the black lotus to me. Since his werewolves were arrested, the Devil has been rethinking some parts of his organization. I will remind his new dealers to bring you some.”
“Tonight?”
QuiTai hated to disappoint a customer, even though it meant tracking down LiHoun and asking him to find someone, anyone, in the Devil’s network who dealt black lotus.
What a surprise that there actually was one downside to Petrof’s demise. It bothered her that she was uninformed, and that for nearly a week that segment of her business had been neglected. The profits on black lotus alone... Not to mention that at any sign of weakness in the Devil’s organization, others would try to muscle in. She’d have to retaliate, of course, and regain control by any means necessary, but she preferred to avoid that. She had to figure out that end of the business, and she had to do it now.
“I will see what I can do.” QuiTai never promised what she wasn’t sure she could deliver.
Lizzriat nodded sharply. She clearly disliked being in QuiTai’s debt.
QuiTai rose and crossed the room. Her limp was growing worse. A warm trickle oozed down her ankle into her sandal. She was hot and miserable and the sharp edge of her brain felt dulled, but she couldn’t let that show. “I have a favor to ask of you in return.”
“So many favors traded in one night. How will we keep score?”
QuiTai’s fingertips barely brushed against Lizzriat’s arm. It was so cool to the touch that she wanted to place her hands on it and absorb the sensation. Lizzriat didn’t pull away as she expected. “Please be kind enough to check the hallway for me so I can slip down the back stairs.”
Lizzriat slid the door open a few inches and peered out. She sucked in a breath as she quickly closed it. “Governor Turyat and Chief Justice Cuulon are in the hallway – looking for me, no doubt. They take a private room, but they might come in here if I don’t go to them. You have to leave. Now!”
QuiTai reached past her and pushed the door open a fraction of an inch. She pressed her ear to the door jamb.
“She’s still out there! She can ruin us!” the Chief Justice said. QuiTai knew his voice too well.
Lizzriat tried to tug the door closed. The silent but determined struggle made it almost impossible for QuiTai to concentrate on the Chief Justice’s and the Governor’s conversation. If only Lizzriat would stop fighting her, there would be no reason for their bodies to be pressed so close, with so much enticing squirming.
Focus. The Chief Justice and Governor.
Of all the corrupt officials in the colonial government, these two would be in the best position to know who had paid Petrof to kill her and her family. She should have waited to use them as conduits – after all, they were frequent customers of the Dragon Pearl’s den. This fear was muddling her brain more than she cared to admit.
“If only Zul hadn’t tricked us into taking slaves –”
That voice had to be Governor Turyat.
“Shut up!”
Zul tricked them into taking slaves? They couldn’t mean Kyam Zul, could they? Hadre? No. A name clicked into her mind. Grandfather Zul. She could believe he was involved. From the little she knew through Kyam, his grandfather was a sneaky, conniving, manipulative master of intrigue.
She simply had to meet this man.
But what was this about tricking them into taking slaves? It had been their idea, hadn’t it? She tried to remember the exact words of her conversation with Kyam on the deck of the Golden Barracuda, but couldn’t recall it well enough. She forced herself to let it go, for now. Eventually it would come to her. Right now, she had more pressing problems.
The violent whispers continued. “This is no time to get lost in the vapor, Turyat. She’s escaped, she has the slaves, and she could bring us down at any second. We have to find her!”
Lizzriat and QuiTai stared into each other’s eyes as their silent fight for control over the door waged on. Lizzriat suddenly gripped the back of QuiTai’s head and pulled her close for a kiss. The slide of her tongue over QuiTai’s fangs sent strong, pleasant sensations through QuiTai’s body.
Lizzriat wasn’t the only one who knew a few lover’s tricks. With her fingertips, QuiTai lightly stroked the inside of Lizzriat’s wrist until she gasped and let go of QuiTai. She tugged hard on the door, but QuiTai didn’t let go.
“That usually works for me,” Lizzriat whispered.
QuiTai swore she could still feel Lizzriat’s tongue. “I could say the same. But you’re welcome to try again.” Jezereet had never done anything like that.
“I think, instead...” Lizzriat’s fingernails dug into the scar on QuiTai’s palm.
Pain she hadn’t felt in days burned through the welt.
“We’re ruined. Ruined!” was the last thing QuiTai heard before Lizzriat won the battle over the door.
QuiTai gently rubbed the deep pink scar line, even though that didn’t make it feel better. “Ooh. You fight dirty.” Her gaze traveled down to Lizzriat’s dapper half-boots and back up to her eyes. “I approve.”
“Normally I wouldn’t care, Lady QuiTai, but I’m glad you do, because you strike me as a vindictive sort.”
“Such cruel words.” QuiTai clasped her hands over her heart. “Alas, as you well know, it’s time for me to go. But, um...” She flicked her tongue over her lips as her gaze made a rather pointed journey from the ruffles of Lizzriat’s shirt to the last button of her waistcoat. The corners of her lips curved. “Mmm.”
She’d let Lizzriat decide what that might have meant.
QuiTai limped past the stirring dreamers to the typhoon shutters. Rain fell so heavily that she could only see the outline of the building across the street. She gripped the veranda post and found a tenuous toe-hold in the intricate carving before climbing down.
By the time QuiTai dropped into the ankle-high muddy water that ran through the street, her clothes were soaked. She lifted the hem of her sarong above the torrent as she limped upslope toward PhaJut’s brothel, where she hoped to find LiHoun.
Chapter 4: PhaJut
QuiTai slipped through the back alley doorway into PhaJut’s brothel in the Quarter of Delights. Like the Red Happiness, PhaJut’s place catered mostly to foreigners, although his sex workers were all Ponongese.
The sour smell of the old building made her nose wrinkle. Stacks of broken furniture crowded the dark back hallway, as they had when she’d worked there. She ducked into the brothel’s kitchen and handed the cook a few coins to fetch LiHoun, since she didn’t dare let the customers see her. Then she crossed the hall to PhaJut’s office to wait. If PhaJut objected to her visit, too bad. Her rapidly dwindling supply of tact had been nearly depleted in the Dragon Pearl.
Luckily, he wasn’t in his office. It was a small, dimly lit room with a desk and only one chair – he’d always liked to make his visitors stand. There wasn’t much on his desk, not because PhaJut was an orderly person, but because brothels, while legal, tended to be secretive businesses. Her desk at the Red Happiness was also bare.
She moved the desk chair close to the window before she sat and faced the door. Just this one little piece of business and then she could rest. Her chin sank toward her chest. She jerked back her head and opened her eyes wide. Lethargy crept over her. She bit her lip and stretched her arms.
Quiet footsteps headed down the hallway. She rose and perched on the window sill in case she had to make a quick escape. The door creaked open. LiHoun peered into the room. Seeing her, he slipped in and shut the door behind him.
The bandy-legged old cat man drew close to her. He pressed his hands together and whispered,
“Have you eaten, grandmother QuiTai?” His vertical pupils were so enlarged that the muted jungle green of his irises were mere halos.
“Yes, and you, favored uncle?”
“Well enough.”
That was an unusually short answer for him.
“Is something the matter?” Her tone was sharper than she’d meant it to be. “Forgive me, LiHoun. I’m not at my best tonight.”
Her hands clenched into fists as she tried to stop the sideways slip of her mind. Damn that conduit back at the Dragon Pearl for taking another pipe! Damn her venom for lingering in his system and keeping them connected now that she had no use for him. He was dragging her under, against her will, into vapor dream again.
LiHoun’s unblinking gaze grounded her. “I can smell sickness on you,” he said.
She showed him her ankle. “The werewolf bite isn’t healing.”
“My women…”
“I put your family in enough danger when –” She wouldn’t finish that sentence, but he had to know she meant when she’d sent the escaped slaves to his house the night they’d run from Cay Rhi. “Anyway, we have business to discuss. The Dragon Pearl is almost out of black lotus. I doubt anyone has received a delivery since the werewolves were executed.”
LiHoun nodded. “It’s the talk of the runners in the quarter. Everyone is looking for a source. Some say the Devil is holding back to drive up prices. They’re all worried.”
“I should have foreseen this.”
“I had hoped to discuss it with you as soon as I heard the rumors, but you were still in hiding. I took the liberty of making inquiries and found the werewolves’ suppliers. They’re anxious to move their merchandise. Some are talking about going directly to the customers.”
“I have to fix this. Tonight.”
“If I may be so bold, it seems that your area lieutenants would be happy to add that business to the rice and other contraband. They always grumbled about the werewolves having it to themselves.”
Until recently, she’d only used LiHoun as a source of information. He’d proved himself resourceful by meeting with the black lotus dealers. Perhaps he should be trusted with more duties, for which she’d pay him generously. “You may always be so bold, favored uncle, and your thoughts mirror mine. What was the werewolves’ mark-up on the black lotus?”
“Thirty percent.”
“Tell my lieutenants to increase that to thirty-five percent.”
“Won’t that give the smugglers more reason to go directly to the customers?
“Our customers have already imagined a higher price due to the sudden scarcity of black lotus. They’ll be grateful we aren’t greedy enough to demand more. And five percent isn’t enough to tempt the smugglers. Not for the work it would take to find customers and keep someone here to run the day-to-day business.”
“Or to risk angering the Devil,” he said.
“You might want to remind them of that when you negotiate an actual purchase, if you are so inclined as to take on that responsibility.” If he refused, her long night would drag on until well after the sun rose. It was still early in the evening, but the hour already felt late. She hated the sense of urgency. Mistakes happened when she rushed.
LiHoun pressed his palms together and bowed low. “I am honored, grandmother.”
He’d always been willing to help her. It wasn’t just the coin she spent freely for his information; they’d always worked well together because, unlike most Ponongese and Thampurians, she didn’t care about LiHoun’s ancestry. He had her respect and she let him know it.
“Before you agree, you must know what I require of you. The Dragon Pearl needs a delivery tonight. Lizzriat was helpful to me, and a gesture is called for.”
The prospect of going out in the rain to find one of the smugglers didn’t seem to bother him. “I’ll arrange it.”
QuiTai tossed a purse of coins to him. He tucked it under his shirt so swiftly it might have never existed. She liked that he didn’t count the payment in front of her.
“Lizzriat was helpful? That is interesting gossip. Perhaps her opinion of you has risen. Word has it that the Ingosolians working the Red Happiness are satisfied with your handling of Jezereet’s funeral arrangements. And of her murderer.”
“One wonders how they would know.”
“They’re discreet.”
“Not discreet enough if Lizzriat knows.”
QuiTai raised her hand to stop him from replying when she heard footsteps outside the door.
The door flung open. QuiTai shoved the window screen open and swung her legs over the sill. PhaJut slunk into the room and she relaxed a bit. He hadn’t changed much in the years since she’d left his employ. His hair was thinner and grayer, and his stomach had turned into a tight little bowl of fat on his otherwise thin frame.
“What are you doing here?” PhaJut asked QuiTai.
“Visiting an old friend.”
“In my office? You get above yourself, little sister.” PhaJut turned to LiHoun. “Who do you work for, anyway?”
LiHoun barely bowed. “Your girls and boys. You don’t pay me to run errands for them.”
“She isn’t one of my girls.” PhaJut pointed at QuiTai.
“Not anymore, but I made a small fortune for you when I was. We parted on good terms. Has your opinion of me changed so much?” QuiTai asked.
“You’re the Devil’s concubine. I’d be a fool to trust you.”
“Oh! I am hurt, uncle. Simply devastated that you would say such a thing.”
“Tell the Devil I’ll not sell this place to him.”
QuiTai solemnly nodded, even though it made her head spin. At least he’d done her the favor of making his fears known. Prodding someone to get to the point was always more work than it should be. “I will tell him, and I will plead with him to leave you alone, for old time’s sake, dear uncle PhaJut.” LiHoun shot her a glance, but his expression didn’t change. Maybe her sarcasm had been too noticeable. “But please, don’t be angry with LiHoun. He had no idea I’d be stopping by.”
“I remember how you two used to sit together on the alley stairs and whisper. Thick as rice porridge. And from what I hear, you still are.”
PhaJut had never trusted her friendship with LiHoun, even though it was LiHoun’s advice that had made her the highest earning worker in PhaJut’s brothel.
It had been a slow night and all the customers had already gone upstairs. Lazing in the dim, sparely furnished front room held no appeal, so QuiTai had rolled a kur before going to find LiHoun. As usual, he’d been on the short flight of steps out the back door. She’d squatted next to him on the rotting wood and lit the kur.
They chatted about the weather, his family, and the new tax on fish. Once they’d exhausted all the usual topics of gossip, he watched her, unblinking, before saying what was on his mind. “Forgive me for telling a poor story, little sister, but perhaps this work isn’t for you.”
The stars were fading as the sky lightened before dawn. Still, she looked to them, picking out her favorites, as she thought about the wisdom of his words.
“Oh, the sex is all right, if only they would shut up! Before I started working here, I thought men came in for only one thing, but no. They want to talk. Talk, talk, talk, and they’re always so boring.”
She handed the kur to LiHoun.
He inhaled and then let the smoke seep out his mouth like a dragon’s tongue. “They pay as much for your understanding ear as for the rest of your body.”
“My ears grow deaf as they stuff them with their noise.”
LiHoun laughed as he patted her hand. “As much as I enjoy our chats, as I said, perhaps you should find other work.”
She made a face. “I worked on a plantation for two months. That was enough to know I’d go mad if I stayed. Then I tried working on a fishing boat. I only lasted a week.”
“There’s always service.”
“‘Oh yes, Ma’am, Thampurian lady, me so humble. Me bow many times.’ Fuck th
at. At least here I won’t lose my position for being smarter than my employer.”
“But you will be put out on the street if you don’t start earning more for PhaJut.”
She knew he was right. Discouraged, she shook her head slowly. “My family needs the money. And it’s not as if a Ponongese girl has many options. Not legal ones. I just have to find a way to be more alluring to the customers. I suppose I could giggle behind my hand more. And gaze up at them longingly.” She batted her eyelashes furiously. “Oh, you big stud. My joy was complete the moment I saw you.” She snorted. “I can mimic anyone, but I’m not sure I can act like that for very long before my stomach spews its contents.”
LiHoun gazed at her for a long while. Then he chuckled. “Maybe, if you can’t be like the other girls, you should be very different from them. On my home island, I heard of a woman who made a fine living in a brothel. When the other girls laughed, she scowled, and when they bowed their heads, she would look directly into the customer’s eyes until he dropped his gaze.”
“Scandalous!” But she liked the idea of this woman. “This story is meat and rice, uncle. Please tell me more.”
His hands moved through the air as if painting a picture of her. LiHoun always did that when he admired a woman. “The other girls swore and got drunk, but she was always a lady. Proper language and posh manners. Aloof. She even rejected customers!”
“PhaJut wouldn’t like that.”
LiHoun snorted. “What the customer likes is all that matters. And from what I heard, her customers liked her so much that they begged her to take heavy purses.” He handed her the small nub of the kur. “Can you treat your customers like rotted fish guts?”
“I wouldn’t have to fake that.” She mulled it over as she slowly exhaled the kur smoke. She could picture such a woman. In her imagination, the woman changed into her. That was a role she could play, she thought. She’d have to watch her language and refine her manners, but that was simple enough. The trick would be to make such a character seductive. But customers came into a brothel with sex in mind already, so they’d interpret almost anything she did as flirting. Men were like that. “That story was a good one, uncle LiHoun. An elegant plan.”
