Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8)

by Terry Mancour

  But that was as exotic as their garb went. Pentandra knew the madame at The Bluest Sky in Wenshar would have been scandalized at the wasted opportunity to display the wares of the girls.

  That disturbed Pentandra. She knew whores. Whores did their best to flaunt their sexuality, not conceal it. They often went as far in their displays as local standards allowed, but they did not dress the same. Ever. Human intersexual attraction dictated that women distinguish themselves to attract a mate’s attention, Pentandra knew with the certainty of the Law of Gravity or Motion. Nor did normal whores dress at all demurely. They revealed as much of their skin as possible, to fool the male eye into believing their fertility. And they frequently flashed their privates to potential customers when the Watch wasn’t looking.

  Yet these girls were acting as demurely as if they were at court, themselves. Perhaps more. But while the approach did not favor the traditional, it had attracted some early adherents.

  The gentlemen who stalked between the knots of girls in the garden didn’t seem to notice the flagrant disregard for tradition – they seemed entranced by the youth and loveliness of the women, regardless of their lack of brazenness. And the girls seemed to respond more like coquettes than harlots, Pentandra noted, skeptically. If the plan was to insinuate as many pretty, polite whores into the Alshari court as she could, Pentandra decided, then there were worse plans to be had.

  “Welcome to the House of Flowers, my lady,” a smooth and mature female voice greeted her. Pentandra looked around and spotted the speaker, a middle-aged woman wrapped in a soft-looking mantle of yellow. “What brings you to the brink of pleasure this evening with us?”

  “It is business, not pleasure, my lady,” Pentandra said, brusquely, as she entered the hall. “Official palace business.”

  “Ah, this must be concerning our lady’s involvement in the Wildflower Festival,” the woman nodded, knowingly.

  “In essence, it does,” Pentandra agreed, coolly. “I would very much like to have a few moments to speak to the baroness.”

  “Lady Pleasure is in residence, at the moment,” the woman agreed. “I am her stewardess, Candrice. While she is quite busy during this busy time, I’m certain she could spare a few moments for you, Lady Pentandra.”

  “Oh, you know who I am?” she asked, surprised, as she assisted Alurra up the stone walkway, around the dancers.

  “The most powerful woman in Alshar? Why of course we do!” Candrice assured her. “Indeed, I feel as if Lady Pleasure has been expecting your call.”

  “She isn’t expecting this,” Pentandra muttered under her breath. “If you could arrange a meeting in short order, I would consider it a favor,” she asked, evenly.

  “As you wish, Lady Pentandra,” the woman nodded, obediently. “Liset! Run and inform Lady Pleasure she has a visitor, please, dear!” she called to the girls in a sing-song voice. One of the dancing girls stopped abruptly, caught the woman’s eye, nodded, and then went inside to do as she was bidden.

  That was also of concern, Pentandra realized. It was rare for whores not to talk back to their managers, and even rarer for them to comply without complaint.

  “Let me escort you to her chamber, my lady,” the woman said, smoothly. “I am certain she will meet with you directly. Can I fetch you a drink? Have you eaten?”

  “Thank you, but I am here on business,” Pentandra nodded firmly. The busy spectacle outside of the House of Flowers was designed to invite and disarm, she recognized. It looked for all the world like the best party in town, and the music, smells, and sights of the place irresistibly drew the eye and the attention. And there was a kind of pall of self-conscious enjoyment about the place that seemed infectious.

  It was difficult to resist. But Pentandra was a well-trained mage in full charge of her senses, and it would take more than a few simple distractions to make her stray from her task.

  Just as she complimented herself for that realization, she also realized that her toe was tapping incessantly to the beat of the music. It took a lot more willpower to make it stop than she anticipated, too.

  “Our business is pleasure,” the woman agreed, pleasantly, as she led them inside. “As stewardess of the house. I see to the comforts of our guests while they consider the pleasures available here.”

  “My business is magic,” Pentandra responded, flatly, resentful of the woman’s alluring tone. “There have been some concerns raised about your house at court. I am here to investigate them.”

  “Magic?” the woman laughed. “We have no magi here, my lady. Save as customers,” she considered. “Magelord Astyral was quite taken with his amusements, when he was last here in Vorone.”

  “Astyral? No doubt,” she said, her eyes narrowing.

  She hadn’t thought the handsome Gilmoran would stoop to paying for his pleasures – he had no end of ready admirers amongst the maids and noblewomen of Tudry.

  But the allure of the prostitute was more than mere sex, Pentandra also knew. She tried not to think less of her friend for his indulgence, but she couldn’t resist getting in a dig. “He’s a Gilmoran. No doubt he has quite eccentric tastes, even for a mage.”

  “He seemed like a perfect gentleman,” Candrice observed as she led Pentandra into the house. Beyond the doors the place started to feel a lot more like a traditional brothel to Pentandra. The hall had benches and couches were girls sat or sprawled, sometimes with their potential clients, other times with each other. Though they all still wore the same green dress, some of them were wearing decidedly less of it than others.

  A sudden moan rang through the room, though Pentandra could not pinpoint the source.

  “What’s . . . what are they doing?” Alurra blurted out.

  “We’ll discuss it later,” Pentandra assured her in a whisper.

  “Right this way, my ladies,” Candrice said with a devilish grin. “Lady Pleasure awaits you,” she said, after she caught the whore Liset’s eye. The girl nodded and then headed back outside to the garden.

  Pentandra took just a moment to compose herself, realizing that she was feeling far more anxiety about the meeting than she’d anticipated. Much more, she realized. Far more than she should. Something was amiss, here, her subconscious whispered to her. Something far more insidious and obscured than the brutal thuggery of the Rat Crew. She was on her guard as Candrice opened the chamber door and escorted them within.

  Baroness Amandice was wearing a long, beautiful red cotton gown cut in an attractive fashion, with wide sleeves and a daring neckline that dominated the room. Though there were parchments and scrolls on the table in front of her, she ignored them in favor of her wine cup.

  She stood and bowed respectfully as soon as Pentandra was escorted in. Pentandra returned the courtesy automatically, if cautiously.

  “Lady Pentandra, what a surprise!” she said in a full, musical sort of voice. “What brings you to The House of Flowers? Business concerning the Wildflower Festival, perhaps?” Then she noticed Alurra, who was stalking patiently behind her mistress. “And who is this rustic little darling clinging to your skirts?” she asked, her voice comforting and intoxicating at the same time.

  She wasn’t using a thaumaturgical glamour – that much Pentandra was assured. An observant mage could recognize one without even using magesight.

  “This is my apprentice, Alurra,” Pentandra replied, smoothly. “And alas, my business here does not concern the celebration. Except in the most tangential of ways.”

  Pentandra was instantly on her guard, but not for obvious reasons. She didn’t sense a trap or sinister intentions, but her gut was screaming at her that there was something subtly wrong with this woman. Pentandra couldn’t put her finger on it, but the hair on the back of her arms and neck was standing up. “There have been concerns raised in court, after your audience with the Duke. I’ve been tasked to investigate them.”

  “Concerns?” laughed the beautiful dowager, who seemed to lack any herself. “What about my humble little business could
possibly concern the court? Enough to convince a senior officer to pry herself out of the palace at night . . . to investigate?”

  “I’ve always been more of an evening person,” Pentandra conceded.

  “So I’ve heard,” Amandice said, knowingly. She knew about Pentandra’s work with the Woodsmen, she suddenly realized. This whoremonger was better informed than she let on.

  “I’m actually here to find out just what you are planning,” Pentandra said, without further maneuvering. She could tell that a woman like Amandice would be perfectly happy dueling with innuendo and insult indefinitely in an attempt to get under Pentandra’s skin . . . and that was not a game she had either time or patience for.

  “Why, I’m planning the Wildflower Festival, my lady mage!” snorted Amandice. Even her snorts were alluringly feminine, Pentandra noted idly.

  “Yet you seem far more invested in the event than one would expect a . . . businesswoman to be for a mere civic display, Your Excellency,” Pentandra observed. “One might wonder at the intensity of your interest.”.

  “You may call me Lady Pleasure, Pentandra,” the madame said, sidestepping the accusation with a friendly gesture. Pentandra was having none of it. She was aware of all the ways a woman in power could use that subtle force as a social weapon.

  “You may call me Lady Pentandra, Baroness Amandice,” Pentandra replied, tersely. “I think we’re past the point of using false lovers’ names, don’t you? This is no simple brothel. There is something arcane afoot, here. Which is why I was brought to bear on the issue.”

  “Well, you are correct about one thing,” Amandice agreed, her tone changing slightly. “This is no simple brothel. But I assure you, we employ no magi.”

  “Nor did I say you did,” Pentandra countered. “Excellency, I am charged by His Grace to police all magic in the realm. That includes wild magic, sports, and . . . more exotic forms. Just because you aren’t waving your certification papers around does not mean you aren’t employing spellwork.”

  It was a bluff, in the sense that Pentandra had yet to gather proof that the House of Flowers was employing magi. But she had a strong enough suspicion to make the effort, if her interview with Amandice was not fruitful. “If this is not a simple brothel, pray enlighten me to what it actually is,” she added, calmly.

  “Why, Lady Pentandra, it is merely the desperate attempt of a woman to raise the plight of her fellow women, for the benefit of her beloved city!” Amandice said, with mock indignity. “After the last few years, it was clear that Baron Edmarin was not going to do anything to help. Far from it. So I took it upon myself to invest the last of my savings in this effort. It’s an exercise in civic pride,” she assured her.

  Despite herself, Pentandra found herself wanting to believe that. She forced her mind away from the easy acceptance of the proposition, and focused on the task at hand. “I find it amusing that you see profiting by selling the bodies of the girls of Vorone as a matter of civic pride.”

  Instead of growing offended, as Pentandra intended, Amandice spread her fingers helplessly.

  “See? I’ve already assisted by providing amusement for leading members of the Court,” she said, smoothly. “As far as profits, I assure you that every ounce of silver those girls earn is reinvested in the business. In them, in other words.”

  “And I’m certain that they are all freely cooperating, unbound by obligation or coercion,” Pentandra observed, skeptically.

  “Of course,” Amandice said smoothly, her beautiful blue eyes narrowing. “I encourage you to speak with any of them at length. Use truthtells, if you like. I think you will find that among their greatest fears is that of being expelled from the House of Flowers. They make a fair wage, they endure comparatively easy working conditions, and they understand that they are all working together to build something larger than any of them, individually.”

  “Your retirement estate, perhaps?”

  “Retire?” laughed Amandice, mockingly. “My dear, this is the most fun I’ve had in years. Why would I retire? If mere financial comfort was my goal, I had enough in savings to ensure my survival well into my dotage. But why save my pennies for my decline, when there is still so much life left in this body?” The madame stretched luxuriously, shaking herself in a casual way that would have scandalized the court, but left no doubt as to how comfortable she was with her femininity. “This is not an enterprise motivated out of greed. It’s a matter of public service.”

  “Really? Explain, please,” Pentandra commanded. Her anxiety had only grown since the start of the interview.

  “I spent my small fortune to take a hundred girls from the worst situations in Vorone, feed them, dress them, and educate them. A third of them wouldn’t have lived through the winter, if it hadn’t been for me, and the rest would have risked swollen bellies and dire circumstance.”

  “But the life of a whore is so much better?”

  “As one of the whores of the House of Flowers, yes, infinitely so,” Amandice countered sharply. “Have you not seen the desperate circumstances in the camps? Deplorable, with no future for any of the girls there. Here, they’ve not only been fed, cleaned and clothed, each been instructed in court manners, etiquette, and all the other social graces. Some have even learned to read. But I was careful at selecting my charges, I assure you,” she insisted. “Each of them, bless their nubile bodies, has a true vocation for the work. Coercion was unnecessary. No one comes to the House of Flowers unwillingly. And no one stays here if they desire to leave.”

  “So putting a hundred whores on the street is a civic project? A training program?” Pentandra asked, skeptically. “Then why the decision to sponsor the Wildflower Festival?” she asked. “There can’t be much in the way of return on that.”

  “Only if you approach things as a traditional madame, and not a philanthropist,” admitted Amandice. “My girls are safe. My girls are clean. My girls are protected. And my girls are getting better,” she said, happily. “They’re a long way from where I want them, but they’ve performed spectacularly thus far. I have high hopes.”

  “I know, I’ve seen some of their work around the palace,” Pentandra shot back. “Seducing guardsmen? Clerks? Knights? What is next, ministers of court?”

  “Well, we’ve only just been admitted to the palace,” Amandice pointed out. “The novelty hasn’t worn off, yet. We’ll work our way up in rank soon enough.”

  The woman’s nonchalance and disrespectful manner made Pentandra’s blood boil, for some reason. Partially because, had she been in the older woman’s slippers, she might have done something remarkably similar.

  But she wasn’t. She was a court minister with a job to do. No matter how much part of herself wanted to express sympathy to the madame for her attempt to bring cheer to the depressed town, she was here to do a job.

  “And where do you plan on stopping?” Pentandra asked, her voice so low it was almost a whisper. “The coronet, itself?”

  “A country looks to its sovereign for symbolic virility,” Amandice suggested. “His Grace is a handsome young man, and possessed of an exceptional wit. Surely you would not deny him a few simple pleasures . . . and education in the arts of lovemaking.” Amandice stopped herself abruptly as a thought occurred. “Unless you were planning on initiating the lad into the crimson arts yourself, my dear . . . ?”

  Pentandra was unexpectedly shocked and taken aback by the suggestion.

  “Me? And Anguin?” she asked, the scandalous nature of the idea driving his title clear out of her head. “Why, he’s barely a man! And I’m a married woman!” she reminded the madame.

  “I’m certain the strength of their marriage vows gives many pause for thought before they commit an infidelity . . . but to do so with your sovereign couldn’t quite be considered breaking them, would it?” she asked, slyly.

  “I have no desire for the boy!” Pentandra said, defensively.

  “Not even with the power you could wield? That doesn’t sound like the Pentandra we a
ll know.”

  “Perhaps what you think you know is mistaken, Excellency,” Pentandra said through clenched teeth. She could feel Alurra stiffen behind her at the rapid-fire exchange. The girl might be unsophisticated, but she understood when two mature women were arguing with each other. “I have a husband. I don’t want power.”

  “Oh, marriage has ruined you!” Amandice said, in exasperation. “Don’t you realize how close you could have been to being a duchess? The first mage-born sovereign since the Magocracy fell?”

  “Only if I want to seduce and captivate an innocent boy,” snorted Pentandra. “A boy whose ‘power’ right now essentially stops at the town wall. If you are going to credit me with such opportunistic viciousness, Excellency, please also credit me with some wit, while you’re at it. Any power I’d get from seducing Anguin I’d have to build myself, anyway.”

  “Then I’m sure you won’t mind if I supplement his training with some practical experience, with some of my best girls,” Amandice continued. “Our duke deserves no less!”

  “If I don’t want power from that font, what makes you think I’d surrender it to you?”

  “Because someone has to look after the lad,” Amandice said, softly. “I knew his father, you know, before he married that . . . Remeran. In his youth. Anguin favors him strongly, in the face and shoulders, but has far more intelligence and vision than Lenguin ever possessed.”

  “You speak as if you knew him intimately,” Pentandra observed, finally detecting a potential weakness in the dowager.

  “Briefly,” conceded the older woman. “For one glorious summer, before he headed back to Falas in the south. And compared to is sire Anguin is a fitter Duke than Lenguin ever was. He could become the greatest of his house. Once he’s properly educated,” she added.

  “So you wish to become the Ducal Whoremonger, then?” Pentandra accused.

  “If the position is vacant,” Amandice shrugged. “Someone needs to get the boy laid. You of all people should know what happens when there isn’t a healthy outlet for a young man like that.”