“You’re not really selling this route to me, Jerome. I find myself forced to ask why we’re to take it?”
“Well, see here, lass,” Jerome said with good humour, “it’s to keep the exact location of the den a secret. It’s a bloody rabbit’s warren down here, what with drains, sewers and many other tunnels, besides. It takes more than a handful of trips before you can ever hope of learning the way to the den. Once we’re sure that you’re trustworthy folks, you’ll be allowed to use the front door.”
“What are you saying?” Nessa asked, grinning playfully. “Do you not trust us? Don’t you trust me?”
“Oh, lass,” Jerome chuckled. “You don’t get to my age without employing a bit of caution every now and again, especially with the opposite sex. You females are fickle and unpredictable. How do you think I lost my right eye?”
“You told me you lost it in a brawl.”
“Aye, I did tell you that, didn’t I?” Jerome confessed. “But that brawl only started because I was trying to impress a fine, wee lass.”
“And did it work?” Hunter enquired, intrigued.
“Dunno, you tell me, lad. We’ll be celebrating forty years of marriage in two months’ time.” Jerome stepped back from the storm drain. “Come now, let’s get a move on. We don’t have all night, and you need to win some coin. Your rent’s due in a couple of days, and as much as I like the three of you, I like money a lot more.”
Orm snorted. “You underestimate my skills, dear, old Jerome.”
“Mmm, and I think you’re overestimating yourself.” Jerome gave Nessa a helping hand through the storm drain’s narrow entrance. She scurried through and sat on the lip, her legs swinging as she blindly searched for the ground.
“Here,” Jerome said, plucking Nessa from the entrance and setting her down onto damp earth. “Only a short drop. Though, considering how small you are, it might not seem like that, eh?”
The storm drain opened up onto a tunnel, which, whilst pitch black, Nessa could tell that it was larger than she had previously thought. The ceiling was high enough that even a bear of a man like Jerome was able to stand upright, just, and the sides were hidden in a darkness so disconcerting, so absolute, that Nessa couldn’t perceive any difference between having her eyes open or shut.
With a hand on her arm, Jerome guided Nessa away from the drain’s entrance, giving Hunter and Orm enough space to clamber through. Nessa’s steps were small shuffles, hesitant. With her free arm, she reached out, feeling for the tunnel’s wall, needing something solid to hold onto to steady her nerves.
Hunter slipped into the tunnel, landing in a puddle with a splash. He was quickly followed by Orm.
“Now, just to lock the grate,” Jerome muttered as he patted himself, searching for the pocket where he had stashed the padlock, “and we can get on our way.”
Chapter 22
Given the less than enjoyable path they’d taken, led through dark and dank tunnels by an overly chatty Jerome, Nessa’s expectations for the den were low. However, upon arrival, she found herself pleasantly surprised
Indeed, what with the low lighting and the lavish furnishings, the den looked like it belonged in one of the grand townhouses of the High Quarter.
The floor was covered in an array of lush carpets, and the walls played host to a vast collection of artworks, everything from fine oil paintings to old tapestries. The barrelled ceiling, supported by square columns, was illuminated by crystal chandeliers, the candles creating soft lighting. Most of the tables were arranged in the centre of the room, a ring of entertainment and activity, a zone fully dedicated to all manner of card and dice games, and anything else that could be bet on.
Hunter and Orm had already joined the rabble at the tables, mingling and conversing with such ease and confidence that Nessa felt a stab of jealousy, wondering how they could turn complete strangers into friends so quickly and effortlessly.
Nessa sat on a plush armchair, her fingers absently stroking the blue, velvet upholstery, drawing faint images in the short pile. She watched Hunter chat with a couple of men who were around his age, possibly a couple of years older, identical twins with cropped, sandy-blond hair and muscular builds. They were dockworkers, from what Nessa had gleaned from eavesdropping every now and again, their faces rugged and tanned even in the winter from long hours outside. The three of them stood around a large, oval table with high sides. Nessa presumed that’s where some form of rodent racing was held, judging by the cheering and jeering, and the occasional bout of swearing aimed at creatures unseen by her.
Her eyes went to Orm, who was sat a couple of tables down from Hunter, doing what he did best: drinking, smoking and gambling. By Nessa’s estimation, they had been at the den for less than an hour, and he was already deep in his second glass of drink with a pile of coins in front of him. Nessa noted, with a faint hint of amusement, that there wasn’t as many coins as there usually was, given the amount of time Orm had been working the game.
“Not doing quite as well as he usually does, is he?” Jerome observed as he slipped into the armchair opposite her. “The other cheats and scoundrels are giving him a run for his money, eh?”
“I suppose a game between equally skilled cheats makes for a pretty even game after all.”
Jerome chuckled and placed a dainty glass of liquor on the low table between them, sliding it over to Nessa in invitation. “There, lass, try that. I know you prefer a hearty ale, but they don’t serve that here.”
Nessa plucked up the glass, peering curiously at the amber liquid contained within. “Oh, is a hearty ale too common for the likes of this fine establishment?”
“I don’t know about that, but I do know that it’s not strong enough to get the job done.”
“Job?”
“Aye, getting them drunk faster.” He nodded to the gaming tables. “That way, the boss stands to make more money and get an ear in for some good gossip. No one says things they shouldn’t be saying like a drunk man, you get me?”
Nessa blinked, taken slightly aback. “I get you.”
It seems that particular idea isn’t solely employed by Hunter and Orm, Aoife murmured from her corner in Nessa’s mind.
And what could the owner of a secret gambling den want to hear, I wonder?
Look around you, Aoife said, there are people from all walks of life there, from gypsies to wealthy merchants. It’s a bit of a strange gathering when you give it a bit of thought. Especially when you realise that there’s no nobility there. You would have thought that there would be at least one or two nobles amongst them.
Nessa, frowning, scanned the room quickly and realised that Aoife was correct. Whilst there was a large number of well-dressed individuals, clothed in finery like brocade doublets and velvet overcoats, they weren’t anything more than wealthy merchants and businessmen, those who had struck luck, or maybe gold, and had risen through the ranks. The social hierarchy that dictated the everyday life in Ellor didn’t seem to reach down to the den. No matter who you were or what you did for a living, everyone was one and the same around those tables.
Although, in all honesty, that only appeared to be so if you were male. Whilst women were present, there was only a handful of them, and they mostly kept to themselves, staying with their tight group of friends.
Slowly but surely, Nessa was coming to realise something unsettling about the role of women in society. Despite the fact that the vast majority played an active part in the community, running shops and owning their own businesses, they weren’t always treated as equals. Nessa couldn’t help but feel that they were second-class citizens. Their wants, their rights, seemed to come after those of the men in their lives. It didn’t matter if those men were fathers, brothers or husbands, women had very little say in what went on in their lives, subjugated by laws and blasé attitudes. This unfair treatment, the subtle belief that women were somehow less than men, boded ill with Nessa. For some reason, she couldn’t help but feel that there should be more for women than, a
t the end of the day, being little more than someone else's property.
Not to say that all men there treated women like objects. The vast majority of men that Nessa had come to know since arriving in Ellor were quite decent. At least, they were towards her. But these men, like Hunter, Orm and Jerome, were well travelled. They had spent a fair amount of time in the south, where things were a little different, more liberal, apparently. Nessa endeavoured to socialise with these men as much as possible. The subtle oppression she witnessed on a daily basis was more than a little unsettling for her. There was just something profoundly wrong with it all, but whatever it was exactly, Nessa couldn’t quite put her finger on. It was a half-remembered memory, a hint that there was something more to it all…that there should be so much more for women, that there was so much more for them…
Turning towards Jerome, who was sipping from his glass tumbler, Nessa ran a considering eye over him, trying to see beyond the man who simply ran a guest house, a man who was almost as tall as Orm and who was a little soft around the middle. There were hidden depths to him that Nessa had never expected. When she had first met Jerome, she had found him to be an interesting character: chatty and filled with stories about his adventures from when he was younger. Some of his tales had sounded true, others, not so much. After tonight, though, she thought he was fascinating; Nessa’s mind likened him to something close to a spy or secret agent, a key figure in an underground organisation that did… Well, Nessa wasn’t quite sure what they did.
She thought back to what Hunter and Orm had said about the people down here, calling them a network of lazy criminals, which clearly wasn’t a correct description, judging by the den’s luxuries. Their activities were clearly profitable. There had been mentions of smuggling mostly, and on occasion, the assassination of someone noteworthy. Hunter and Orm also referred to them as rebels who did very little in the way of rebelling.
The questions of what they were rebelling against and what they hoped to gain from their secret ventures arose in her mind. Nessa guessed that it was her task to find out. It was, after all, why they were there in the first place.
Under the guise of socialising, drinking and gambling, they were there to glean whatever information they could.
“How’s the drink, lass?” Jerome asked, knocking Nessa from her musings.
Nessa took a quick cursory sip of the liquid amber, and sweet fire coated her tongue. She coughed, swallowing it before she started to choke and spit in an undignified manner.
“What do I think?” she sputtered, setting down the cup of liquid flames. “I think you’re trying to poison me.”
“Na,” Jerome laughed, “poison’s a woman’s weapon, and I sure ain’t one of them.”
Nessa smirked and nodded to his bushy beard. “I don’t think anyone would ever make the mistake of thinking you were.”
Running a hand through the salt and pepper frizz that covered the bottom half of his face, Jerome peered at Nessa with his one remaining eye. “Hmm, got more hair on my face than the top of my head these days.”
“And yet you still have enough left for that ridiculous topknot.”
Jerome scowled, making the leather patch over his right eye shift a little. For a brief moment, Nessa saw the corner of an old scar, pale and stretched. “I’ve had this topknot for nigh on twenty years. It’s my signature hair style.”
“Twenty years? I think it’s about time for a change.”
“I’d advise against insulting a man’s topknot,” Jerome snorted dismissively. “You risk hurting his feelings, and you never want to hurt a man’s feelings.”
“Oh?”
“Indeed,” Jerome said with mirth, “we might start to doubt our entire existence, and then who knows what might happen.”
“You’ll start sulking.”
Jerome’s head fell back as he roared with laughter, the creases around his eyes and mouth deepening. “Ah, lass. You are a rare gem.”
Nessa tugged her cap nervously, uncomfortable under the handful of curious stares coming from men on the closer tables. “Shh, Jerome. I’m in disguise. You can’t keep calling me ‘lass’ around here.”
“Mmm, and what a disguise it is,” Jerome hiccupped, trying to swallow his laughter. “You are very disguised. Eh, laddie.”
Nessa rolled her eyes and muttered, “Time to change the subject, I think.”
“Ooh, what to?”
“You and your boss.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah,” Nessa slouched back in the armchair, getting comfortable, “I’m very intrigued.”
“I bet you are.”
“Is he here?” Nessa asked, scanning the room again, searching for someone who looked like they might be in charge.
“Maybe he is,” Jerome said slyly, “maybe he isn’t.”
Nessa glared. “That’s not a real answer.”
“It’s the best answer you’re going to get,” Jerome said, hiking a shoulder, “regarding who and where the boss is.”
“Will I ever be allowed to know?”
“Dunno, almost everyone here doesn’t know who he is.”
“But you do?”
“Oh, aye,” Jerome nodded. “I know him. I’ve known him since I was a young lad.”
“That’s a long time.” Nessa’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you friends, then? Business partners?”
Jerome shook his head vigorously, his salt and pepper topknot jiggling from side to side a little. “No. No. Nothing of the sort. I owe him a life debt, and this is just part of the payment. Over the years, though, I like to think he’s grown to trust me. Well, as much as someone like him could trust anyone.”
“How fascinating…”
“Aye, it would certainly be a tale to tell.”
“But it’s a tale you can’t tell yet?”
“Not yet, lass. I’m not one for telling unfinished stories, even if I wasn’t sworn to secrecy. No, even if I could, I wouldn’t. I’m old, but I’m not that old. I reckon there’s still a few chapters left to go before my story’s done.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Nessa murmured, watching as he downed the last mouthful of liquor from his tumbler. Whisky, she thought absently. “I’ve never been a fan of short stories.”
“Me neither. Especially if it’s in regards my own life’s tale.”
“I think all of us feel that way,” Nessa speculated quietly. “Now, if you’re not in a partnership with this mysterious boss, are you the manager of this delightful den?”
Jerome stared at her long and hard with his dark eye, the brown almost black as he considered what he could—should—divulge. Under that gaze, Nessa saw the secret side of Jerome, a man who was part of a criminal network, a man who was something more than a good-natured landlord dressed in plain clothing. For a second, Nessa’s questions, her curiosity, faded away to nothing, replaced by a peculiar desire to disappear.
Nessa’s breath caught in her throat, and her Rider’s Mark tingled in warning. Aoife’s mind crowded her own, tense and watchful. Aoife must have alerted Orm and Hunter, for they looked over in Nessa’s direction, ready to rush to her aid, should they need too.
It seemed that their help wasn’t required. Yet.
Jerome sighed and shrugged. “You have a natural curiosity, eh? Practically filled to the brim with questions. I suppose, given the less than ordinary circumstances, that’s normal, maybe even expected.”
Nessa released her pent-up breath, “I don’t mean to pry.”
“No need for any of that.” Jerome waved away her apology with a flick of his wrist. “The fault lies with me. I’ve been in this line of work for too long. I tend to jump to conclusions and react on instinct, even though I’m partially retired now. So, you can relax and have your guard dogs stand down. It’s all right. I know you’re an inquisitive soul. There’s no maliciousness to you at all. I have to be careful, though. Many people’s questions tend to have less honourable intentions than simple curiosity.”
“Is that so?” Ne
ssa looked at Hunter and Orm, trying to give them a reassuring smile, but only managing a pained grimace.
Orm simply shook his head in despair and went straight back to his game. Hunter, although turning his back to the twins, kept glancing at her from the corner of his eye, periodically checking on her.
I think that less invasive questions would be a wise move for now, Aoife advised. At least until you’ve established some kind of understanding with one another.
After knowing Jerome for a couple of weeks, Nessa murmured, I thought we had.
When he was simply Jerome, owner of the guest house, maybe. However, now he is Jerome, senior member of an underground criminal network that participates in dealings that aren’t fully disclosed yet.
Don’t you think we should find out what this network really does before we have anything more to do with it?
I fear that option is not open to us at the moment.
There was no need for Nessa to voice her next question. Aoife knew what it was even as the thought formed, such was the nature of their ever-strengthening bond.
This is a test, Aoife explained, a way of seeing how you behave when in unfamiliar territory, when you’re in their territory. They want to know who you talk to, what you talk about, what questions you ask. And when you leave, I bet they’ll have a way of keeping track of you, seeing if you tell anyone about this place.
So this is a vetting process, Nessa said, to see who they can trust?
That’s what I think, Aoife decided. This is like a holding pen, keeping anyone who may be of use to them later on in an environment where they can make sure that potential recruits are trustworthy and able to keep secrets secret.
By that logic, the people running this operation must be under the impression that we might be of some use to them.
Most likely.
So, the question is what possible use could we be to them?
That, my little Rider, is the question that intrigues me the most tonight.
“That used to be one of my main roles,” Jerome was saying, “to make sure our secrets were kept secret.”
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