Shani sighed. “I’ll have to schedule them on different days, I guess.” She rose and made her way inside.
I made to follow her when the owner of the establishment, the one who had been chastising me for doing so little, caught my arm. I looked down at the hand, then followed it to a slender shoulder, then to a face that was beautiful and matronly. Her eyes were a honey-gold, and her blue-black hair was bound up in an elaborate bun, wisps of gray starting to make themselves known. I raised a brow.
“You meant what you said. You would have killed those men and disposed of their bodies if she asked you to, wouldn’t you?” she asked.
I met her gaze and didn’t blink. “Of course, Nan,” I said.
She could tell I meant it, for I felt her shiver before she released my arm.
I entered the main salon of The Velvet Pearl, Nan and Mongo trailing. Nan’s gaze followed me thoughtfully.
I listened to the moans of the various guests and staff and the accompanying squeaks of well-used springs as I made my late rounds through the house. It was nearing closing time. Dawn was two hours away, and the girls should be finishing off their customers soon. At that time, I would see the last of their callers through the doors and lock up for the night, leaving the girls to their nightly routines before some much-needed sleep.
I took my job as head of security seriously. I had to in order to maintain the ruse. In truth, I didn’t even consider it a ruse anymore. I enjoyed the work, and the relationships that I had built since arriving here more than made the job worthwhile. I didn’t make much in the way of coin, but I didn’t need it.
At first, I thought I would hate the idea of working in a brothel and had refused outright when Uncle Tamil suggested I seek employment as a courtesan. I think he only said it to get my blood up. Having grown up in the empire, which had altogether different senses of propriety than Trular, that sort of thing would naturally have preconceptions attached to it. Those preconceptions turned out to be only partially correct.
It was a matter of divine inspiration that I came up with the idea of working security when I arrived here three months ago. My initial plan of finding a temple to base my investigations from, as I had done in the Arulean capital city of Corinthia, had borne no fruit. Hessa had no real presence in Trular. I eventually heard rumor of a small temple on the outskirts of the city, but reports had that it was little more than a roadside shrine tended by a young Priest.
I didn’t even seek out the shrine. I had no interest in camping by the side of the road while trying to do what I came here for. It was too far from the city to be convenient for conducting any sort of investigation, and I did not relish the idea of sleeping out of doors when I could have a warm bed. To the brothel it was, then.
Before I left the Empire, I had arranged for tutelage in the basic language and customs of Trular and had pursued the study for some time. But I was left with the understanding that to become truly fluent, I needed to be immersed in the culture. Nevertheless, the lessons paid off.
I had come in through the front door, not considering that it was likely not the right course of action for one seeking the type of employment I was looking for. I was immediately assaulted by a buxom, auburn-haired beauty who squinted as she made her way toward me. She wore a bustier that laced up the front and was mostly untied. The strings that laced the thing together hung from the shelf of her large chest and she twirled one of the thin strips around a delicate finger. Her silky skirt just touched the floor around her feet. As she walked toward me, toned thigh would occasionally peek through the seafoam panels, courtesy of the slits that ran to her waist. The air was heavy with perfumes that competed as much as the ladies for the attention of new callers.
Having been tutored on the proper way to greet a lady, I sneezed.
“Not been here before, have you, hon?” she said in an amused, silky voice. “That’s alright. We’ll take good care of you. Don’t you worry none.”
She made a show of perusing me. I was dressed in a well-made shirt and trousers.
“We’ll take real good care of you.”
“I am hoping to speak to the proprietor,” I said in broken Trulari, finally regaining control of my faculties. “I’m looking for work.”
Her demeanor changed at that admission. “Oh, new in town. Arulean accent, too. Don’t get many Imperials on this side of the water,” she said. “Well, you’ll definitely be popular with the ladies that come in here.” She traced a finger along my bicep. “Some of the gentlemen, too.” She laughed at my involuntary blush and called out to a figure behind me, “Mongo, take this one to Nan, would ya hon?”
“Sure thing, Kitty,” said a burly man as he slid from a stool against the wall. He was huge. As he sauntered over to me, I could see his muscles rippling beneath the brown leather vest he wore with no shirt underneath. “Come with me,” he said and turned toward a side door that I presumed led to this Nan that ran the place—the same Nan that Uncle Tamil asked me to look in on.
I had come to the kingdom of Trular, the Jerean Principate, to be precise in search of three children. They were the last of a number that I thought I had any chance at recovering, and I wasn’t terribly optimistic at that. But I made a promise. I had sworn an oath to the mother of one of those kids, that I would bring her child home if I could. When Uncle Tamil realized that I was coming here anyway, he asked me to look in on a contact of his that had gone silent a few months ago. Being the Magister of the Realm and First Consult to the Emperor required him to have eyes and ears everywhere and he was concerned about one of his agents. He asked me to bring her home after I completed my mission. He had also suggested that she would be able to help me. She was in the business of gathering information, after all.
I followed the burly guard through a series of rooms connected by a short hallway until we arrived at a solid oak door. He knocked.
“Come in,” said a feminine voice from the other side. Mongo turned the knob and entered.
The woman sat at her desk poring over a ledger. Her long black hair was woven into an elaborate braid and pulled over her shoulder, spilling onto the ornate desk.
She glanced up from her work to see who had entered. “What is it, Mongo?”
“Miss Kitty said to bring him to you,” Mongo said. “Said he was looking for a job.”
“Is he now?” The woman rose and strolled around the desk, taking me in as she did. “Hmm,” she said. “He’s built well. He could make a promising addition to the stable.”
I cleared my throat. “That’s not the kind of work I’m looking for, Madam.”
“Oh, and he’s polite as well.” She smiled. “‘Madam’ is an Arulean term, though. I’m just Nan.” She held her hand out, palm down.
I bowed and took her proffered hand. “A pleasure,” I said as I brushed a kiss across her knuckles.
“Schooled in courtly manners as well. It’s a shame you’re not looking for more, shall we say, traditional employment.” Her eyes widened in amusement and she gave me a smirk. “I could make a fortune off you.” She grinned at my discomfort. “Mongo, show the man out.” She spoke to me then, “We have adequate security.”
“I would suggest that you do not, in fact, have adequate security,” I said. Mongo bristled and started for me. The woman, Nan, raised a hand and halted him. She narrowed her eyes at me, and it seemed she was taking the time to assess me for more than my appearance.
“What are you?” she asked. “At first I would say mercenary, by the way you walk, but no. You are not nearly so brutish as that.”
I raised my eyebrows at her observation, and she explained.
“You stand with your weight on the balls of your feet, like a dancer…or a swordsman. I would wager that your pirouettes are more dangerous than any dancer’s have a right to be.” She tapped a thin finger to her lips. “Your hands suggest that you are skilled with a sword. The calluses tell the tale there.”
I had to admire the woman’s observational skills. Tamil had the rig
ht of it when he said she was cunning.
“I’m just looking for a job,” I said.
“You are saying that Mongo, our current head of security, is not up to the task?” she asked.
“I am certain he is…effective,” I said.
“But you think you are more effective,” she said flatly. She gestured to the hulking man behind me. “Fine, beat Mongo here and you can have his job.” She turned and made her way back around the desk and sat.
“What are the rules?” I asked, holding out a finger to Mongo, who stalked toward me with violent glee on his face.
“Rules?” she asked incredulously. “Beat Mongo. I thought that was simple enough.”
“How badly do you want me to beat him?” I asked. “I just met the man. He seems a decent fellow. I have no interest in hurting someone any more than they need.”
Nan rolled her eyes. “Mongo, break an arm and throw him out. Just pick one. Either will do.”
“Ah. Rules,” I said with a grin. “Now that’s something I can work with.”
The kerfuffle that ensued resulted in my immediate assignment as head of security and a trip to the healer with Mongo to get his arm mended. Afterward, I had to come back and clean the blood from Nan’s rugs. I suggested that someone else could do it since it was she that caused the whole debacle, but she let me know in no uncertain terms that I could clean my own mess. She said I should have been more careful, and I should think twice before headbutting someone in the face on expensive rugs. She had a point, I supposed.
Knives in the Dark
With my naked combatants sent home and the remaining clients ushered out for the night, I locked the doors and made my way to my room. It was small, but not as small as my little cell in the temple where I’d been raised. It had room enough for a good-sized bed, a comfortable chair with an ottoman, and a small writing desk. Against one wall sat a washstand which held a basin, pitcher of water, and a small mirror. Next to it stood a wardrobe to hold my clothes, and a trunk lay at the foot of the bed which contained my armor, complements of the Imperial Armorer, and the few weapons I brought with me. Lastly in the corner of the trunk lay a stack of books wrapped in waxed leather. I performed my nightly ablutions and climbed into bed for some much-needed rest.
Sleep wouldn't come, however, and no matter how much I tossed and turned, I could not find rest. I lay awake looking at the open window until I could just see the sky lighten with the coming dawn. I discovered the source of my unease when my stomach growled.
With a sigh, I rose and pulled on a pair of loose cotton trousers and tied them about my waist, followed by a baggy shirt with a deep collar that left much of my chest exposed. They were of a style I had been introduced to by an odd, dark-skinned man in the port city of Drada back in the Empire just over a year ago.
In a drunken stupor, the crazy Mylean convinced me to purchase and wear garb very similar to this, and I had to admit the garments were comfortable. While I wouldn’t wander the streets of Jerea in them, they were perfect for padding around in what amounted to the middle of the night for those that worked as late as we did at The Velvet Pearl. I had to pay more to get the comfortable clothes here in Trular, but for times like this, it was worth it.
I made my way to the kitchens. Once there, I got a small board and sliced up some cheeses and dried meats along with some remnants of bread left over from the evening meal. I grabbed this, as well as a jug of wine and two cups, and headed for Nan’s office. I knew she would still be up going over the day’s earnings and placing orders for more supplies come sunrise. This wasn't the first time since I arrived that we had shared a drink in the wee hours to build some momentum toward sleep.
But as I approached her door, I heard a crash and a cry. Years of training took hold, and I dropped the food. My eyes silvered as I drew deep on my power.
I leaned back and kicked the heavy oak door off its frame. It landed with a crash and my eyes fell to Nan, bent backward over her desk and bleeding badly from a wound in her stomach. A figure in dark clothing, including a deep cowl and mask, had Nan by the throat. Their other hand held a dagger poised for the kill.
My interruption surprised the intruder, and instead of delivering the killing blow, they turned and threw the dagger at me. If I were not drawing so heavily, it would have taken me in the throat. Instead, I sidestepped it and watched it clatter down the hallway behind me. The attacker’s eyes widened in surprise. They then narrowed in pain as Nan stabbed her assailant with a long, narrow blade she produced from the folds of her dress. The cut wasn’t very deep as Nan had to reach across herself to deliver it. It certainly didn’t slow the assassin down.
The assassin—for I didn’t know what else to call someone who dressed like that and snuck into places to murder people—delivered a hard blow to Nan’s head, knocking her senseless. Her blade fell to the floor beside the desk. Nan collapsed next to it in a heap.
Another knife flew for my face, and I batted it aside. That gave the assassin time to draw a short sword from their back, and they came at me in a rush. I ducked inside the first swing and caught their arm at the wrist, then delivered two quick elbow strikes to the side of their head. I drove the hand wielding the sword into my knee, breaking their grip. The sword fell and I kicked it toward the door. I was greatly relieved that I was able to disarm them. I couldn’t defend against a skilled swordsman for very long barehanded, even with my magically enhanced speed.
The distraction was enough for the assassin to deliver a blow to my temple, and lights exploded behind my eyes. They broke my grasp and spun away, drawing two daggers. While I do love a good knife fight, I think I would have liked this one better if I’d had blades of my own.
The daggers came for me, slashing and jabbing. With nothing to parry with, I was forced to block the hand behind the blade rather than the blade itself. The additional speed granted me by my draw was all that saved me. We spun and danced around one another, trading kicks and slashes. I took a shallow stab to the shoulder and numerous cuts to my forearms. I recalled Master Brenn lecturing my group of Guardians. ‘Mark this well,’ he said, ‘The first rule of a knife fight is everybody gets cut.’ So focused was I on blocking and dodging the knives, several kicks slipped through my defense.
An opening presented itself when they lunged. I rolled around the outstretched arm, grabbing it as I passed. I used their arm as a lever, dragged them off balance, then reversed direction, using their joint’s natural disinclination to bend backwards to upend them and slam them to the ground. I fell hard atop them, my full body weight following my knee into their gut. The wrap around their face puffed with the expulsion of breath. I had to give it to them, however, they made not a sound during the entire fight.
Quick feet swung up and over and wrapped around my neck to pull me off. I rolled, pulling free of the trap, then launched forward before they could gain their feet and hit them with my full strength—square in the face. They flew backward, hit the desk, and slumped next to Nan. They were too dazed to move.
I batted the blades from their hands and pinned their arms under me as I sat astride them, restraining them in place. With their back against the desk, I yanked off the mask and cowl to reveal a feminine face and the aftermath of my punch—blood was pouring from her nose. I grabbed her throat as she regained her senses and struggled. I was still drawing deep on my magic and she was no match for me. I slammed her head back against the desk.
“Who hired you?” I demanded.
The woman’s eyes rolled back in her head with the blow. Blood trailed from a split lip and one eye filled with blood. Nevertheless, she spat in my face.
I slammed her head into the front of the desk a second time and tightened my grip. Her eyes bulged, and she squirmed more vigorously, but it was no use. She was beaten. She didn’t have the strength left to wriggle free. I loosened my grip and tried again.
“Who hired you?”
Her eyes tried to focus on me without success, so she settled on glaring for
ward hatefully. I smacked her across the face and it rocked her head to the side. I noticed something then. I grabbed her jaw and forced her to look away. In the hollow just behind her left earlobe was a small tattoo of a crowned skull. A guild, then. I knew of a few and what I knew about them, specifically, amounted to little. But what I did know was that they all were extremely disciplined, which explained her not making a sound even when she was injured. But more than that—they were dedicated.
She wouldn’t talk. It had been a desperate hope that I would get the answers I wanted, especially from one such as her. I grabbed Nan’s dagger, though I suppose it could be more accurately described as a throatslitter, and plunged it up into the little tattoo. Her eyes glazed over immediately, and I dragged the soul from the woman’s corpse to replenish what I had used in the fight.
I turned to look at Nan, who was awake not three feet from me and propped against the desk holding her wound. She looked at me in horror and wonder.
“What are you?” she croaked and lost consciousness.
I got off the dead assassin and began checking Nan over. It was bad. She had a deep stab wound to her side. A gut wound—It wasn’t something I could treat. If she was going to survive her body trying to poison her, she would need a healer.
I ran down the hallway to the foot of the stairs.
“Mongo!” I shouted as loud as I could. “Mongo!”
Two seconds later, Mongo appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Yeah, boss?” he said, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“Nan’s been attacked. Get the healer, that Bloodmage that the girls see off the books.”
Mongo disappeared back toward his room. He returned a moment later and thundered down the stairs, two at a time, and using his key to exit, he tore into the morning glow. I returned to Nan’s side.
I took the throatslitter and after wiping the assassin’s blood on my leg, began cutting away Nan’s dress to get at her wounds. It was then I was attacked by an enraged prostitute.
Oathbound: The Emperor's Conscience, Book 2 Page 2
