by R. M. Olson
Probably, if you didn’t know who they were and you didn’t have someone like Tae who’d been tracking every single one of Grigory’s people on the planet for the past three days, you might have thought they were regular customers. But Jez had spent long enough on Grigory’s ship to notice all the little tells—the way their eyes moved restlessly, taking in the room. The way they glanced at Masha, then glanced back again surreptitiously, as if wanting to watch her without being watched in return. The handles of weapons poking out of pockets and holsters. The stiffening in their postures when they saw Jez.
She grinned at them.
They glared back at her, the animosity in their gazes hardly disguised.
She looked them up and down insolently. No one she recognized, but then Grigory would hardly send someone they’d recognize.
What he’d sent was a man and a woman, both wearing fine clothes, both looking ever so slightly uncomfortable in their fine clothes, like you might if you’d practiced wearing them, but only for long enough to put on an act. The woman was pale skinned, with hair so light it was almost white, the man’s complexion around the same colour as Jez’s, his long, straight black hair hanging around his shoulders.
“You the proprietor here?” the man asked, looking Masha over and ignoring Jez.
“Yes,” said Masha smoothly. “I am, as a matter of fact.” She gestured around the room. “As you can see, we’re quite busy. But tell me what you’re looking for, and I’ll see what I can do for you.”
“I heard you were new game in town. We wanted to come see,” said the woman lazily.
“Of course,” said Masha. She turned. “Jez? Would you do the honours?”
Jez winked at her and turned to the two, who’d stiffened palpably.
The sight sent a warm flood of satisfaction through her chest. Honestly, it was nice to know you’d made enough of an impression that people told their friends about you. Honestly, she’d cheated so many of Grigory’s damn boyeviki out of their credits she could probably have set up shop on her own, if that was what she got off on.
“Guess that means Masha likes you,” she said in a stage whisper to the two people who were eyeing her with something approaching loathing. “Not to brag or anything, but I’m pretty damn important around here. But hell, I like Masha, so I do her a favour now and again. Come on, I’ll show you ‘round.”
They followed her, and she brought them out the back way into the gardens.
On our way back, she tapped out in pilot’s code, her com resting casually against her thigh.
Ready, came Lia’s reply.
She held her com to the panel in front of the doors, and they slid open.
The gardens, like the lobby, had been transformed. The bushes and shrubs were arranged artfully, blocking off secluded alcoves from which slurred voices and wordless moans emanated. Flowers, garishly coloured and too large to be natural, drooped from trellises, their thick, heavy scent smothering in the warm air.
“Here’s the garden. Can’t get in unless you have a guest token, which means making nice to Masha,” she said over her shoulder. She led them through a maze-like passageway, glancing around surreptitiously.
Supposedly, she was supposed to stumble over someone right about in the centre of this hell-hole, but she was pretty sure she’d past the centre already.
Damn it, what’s happening? She tapped out.
Sorry, came a hurried reply, but nothing else. She narrowed her eyes.
The damn flowers were already giving her a headache.
Then three people tumbled out though the bushes and into the path in front of her. She jumped back, cursing, and grabbed for her gun before she realized that she recognized all three of them. Two were dressed as entertainment, one was dressed as a customer, and they all looked slightly sheepish.
“Hey, you bastards,” she snapped, “you want to use the garden, you can damn well stay where you’ve booked.”
“I’m—sorry,” said the woman dressed as a customer, straightening and brushing dirt off her dress. She cleared her throat and seemed to be trying to regain her dignity. “You two,” she snapped at the two “entertainers” who were still on the ground. “You heard that. Get up.”
They rose, heads bowed meekly, but Jez caught just the twitch of a grin at the corner at one of their mouths. The “customer” jerked her head, and they followed her back through the newly-created hole in the bushes.
Jez glanced over her shoulder. The two boyeviki were watching in faint confusion.
She grinned at them. “Like Masha said—get all types in here.”
“Take them up the right-side path,” came Lev’s voice in her earpiece, that sort of measured calm that he always used when he wasn’t at all calm. “We’re having some issues with the pavilion. If they get in there, I’m not sure—”
On it, she tapped out.
“What’s over here?” asked the boyevik man as they exited the maze of bushes. He was pointing to the left, where a huge pavilion stood, obscured by the greenery and draped with luxurious-looking vines that still gave Jez the shivers, honestly.
Jez shot him a lascivious look. “Hey now, some things you don’t get to see until you pay your dues, if you know what I mean.” She paused and glanced over him and raised an eyebrow. “Actually, now that you mention it, maybe I should take you over in that direction. You look like a man who appreciates pain.”
His eyebrows shot up before he managed to force his face into something approximating unconcern. “What—do you—”
She grinned and winked. “Not sure I want to spoil it for you. You know, there are people who are into that, and we’ve only had—” she paused a moment, as if thinking. “Two deaths in there so far. To be totally honest with you, I’m a little surprised, but I guess some of our guests have the constitution of a swamp-ox. Couldn’t kill them with a thirty-centimetre gutting knife” She paused again. “Or maybe it was a thirty-five centimetres? I don’t remember what she used.”
“I thought Masha said this house didn’t keep disposable entertainment,” the woman snapped.
Jez grinned wider. “Oh, I didn’t say it was entertainers that died. Masha would have had a fit.”
The man was looking at her in open horror now.
“Come on,” said Jez, turning towards the pavilion. “Figure adventurous customers like you, you’d fit right in. Bet Masha would even give you a discount on the price if you came in hurt badly enough. Looks like a merciless bastard, I know, but she’s got a soft spot when people are bleeding all over her nice polished floors. You know why she wanted them stone, right? Hell of a tough thing to wipe that kind of blood off wood.”
“I—” began the man. “I’m not certain—”
“I don’t think we’ll require a tour of the pavilion,” said the woman, her tones icy, but the mild horror underneath clearly apparent. “I’d rather head back and look at the entertainment, if—”
Jez clapped a hand on her shoulder, and she flinched back in distaste.
“Who said anything about a tour? Thought I’d give you a taste of what you can buy around here. Like I said, your buddy there looks like the kind who likes a little pain.”
“Take us back inside,” snapped the woman.
Jez shrugged, raising her eyebrows. “Well, guess if you want to waste a good offer—” She hesitated, then turned up the narrow path along the right side of the garden, and the visibly-relieved boyevkiki followed close behind.
The walls of the pleasure house were a brilliant white, and at this time of day, the sun beating against them made the reflection almost blinding. Jez closed one eye completely and squeezed the other to a slit, and took a few moments fumbling at the door.
The better the shock between the outside and the dark gambling hall, the better for everyone.
Radic, we’re coming in, she tapped inconspicuously on her com as she worked.
We’re ready for you, he tapped back.
She pulled the door open, and gestured inside w
ith a flourish. “Don’t usually let customers come this way, but hell, make an exception for you,” she said. “This goes straight into my gambling hall. Usually you have to go around through the lobby. Don’t want anyone sneaking out without paying their debts, if you know what I mean.” She gave them a broad wink.
Both boyeviki glared at her, and then the man ducked inside, followed by the woman. Jez stepped in after them and closed the door, opening both her eyes as the light from outside was abruptly cut off.
Even with the precautions she’d taken, it took her a moment of blinking to make anything out in the dim room. When she could distinguish shapes again, she saw Radic lounging against the far corner of the bar, pouring out a drink and chatting in a low voice to an obviously-inebriated customer.
Around them, the muted clink of tokens tapping against a table, the murmur of voices, the thick, expensive smell of alcohol that cost a hell of a lot of money, enveloped them like a blanket. She closed her eyes and sighed in contentment, then stepped forward.
“Come on, you two,” she said over her shoulder. “Can’t have people thinking you’re copping a peek at someone’s tokens. Get you killed in a place like this.”
“Your pleasure house seems like an exceptionally dangerous place to be a customer,” said the man, his expression stiff. From the way he was blinking, his eyes couldn’t have adjusted to the light yet.
Which was exactly what she wanted.
“Well, we’ve been pretty busy, so guess not everyone is as timid as you two,” she said in a jocular tone. He glared, still blinking, and she led them purposefully close to the tables.
“Got every game you’ve heard of here, and probably a couple you haven’t,” she said as she walked. “Figure you could probably learn a couple things if you sat in here for a while. Might lose a few credits though.”
“And how would we know that someone,” he placed an entirely unnecessary emphasis on the word, “wouldn’t cheat?”
She turned her head to shoot him a quick grin. “Person in charge of the gaming tables would shoot them dead,” she said nonchalantly. “We put in the atmosphere of a kabak, might as well put in the rules.”
“Cheats get away with that in kabaks, sometime, though,” said the man softly. His voice held an edge of menace.
She shrugged, grinning. “Well, guess you could always try. Figured you’d be a little too timid for that, though. After what I saw in the garden, you don’t seem like the type who could handle himself in a kabak. Probably best that you two stick to the lobby, honestly.”
The man opened his mouth to protest, and Jez winked at the woman at the table next to her, stumbling slightly. The man behind her stopped short to keep from bumping into her, and the other boyevik stumbled into him, and Jez nudged the table with her hip at the same time.
The woman at the table jumped to her feet, grabbing the boyevik man by the shoulder of his jacket. “You filthy plaguer,” she hissed. “You cheating for this bastard playing against me? Wouldn’t put it past him. But he’s damn well going to have to—”
Jez grabbed the woman’s wrist in a vice-like grip, grinning. The woman winced, her fingers loosened on the man’s jacket.
Honestly, Jez wasn’t holding her that hard, but they’d practiced enough times in the last week that she probably had bruises.
“No fighting in my gambling hall,” Jez said, in a tone that was as menacing as she could make it while she was trying very, very hard not to laugh.
The woman stared at her for a few moments, expression dangerous, then jerked her arm away in disgust.
“Pour her a drink,” Jez called to Radic, who’d busied himself behind the bar. “On the house. And if she tries to start something again, throw her out.”
“You got it, boss,” said Radic, turning to pull a bottle from the collection behind the bar.
Jez turned back to the woman, who was glaring at her.
She was actually a pretty good actor, honestly. Or it might have been her bruised wrist.
“My hall, my rules,” she said softly, keeping her voice as menacing as possible. “One chance. But you don’t get any more. Just be damn glad I caught you before you’d hit my guest.”
The woman narrowed her eyes and turned away, muttering, and Jez turned back to the boyeviki and gave them a wide grin.
The man was looking around him uneasily.
“Well,” she said, “you two know how to make friends fast. Better get you back to the lobby before you get killed.” She gestured casually around her. “Floor in here is great for gambling, but cleaning blood off it is hell. Don’t want to do that again anytime soon.”
The rather subdued boyeviki followed her out of the hall. She made a point of pulling the doors open wide, so their eyes, now adjusted to the dim lighting in the gambling hall, would be flooded with the golden glare of the lobby.
“Come on, don’t got all day,” she said impatiently, as they blinked against the light. “Masha’s at the desk but I don’t know if she’ll be for long. We’re pretty full right now, so if you like what you’ve seen, you’d probably best get over there.”
They walked forward past her, still blinking, and she leaned against the doorway, grinning.
By the time they reached Masha, they were too far away for their voices to carry, but Masha’s com, like the rest of their’s, was set to the general line, and Jez could hear their conversation distinctly though her earpiece.
“And did you enjoy your tour? I hope it impressed you. Jez is a rather unconventional tour guide, I know, but—” Masha shrugged. “She is fairly skilled in certain areas, and I wanted to make sure you weren’t inadvertently killed.”
“I find it difficult to believe that people frequent this house if it’s so dangerous,” said the man, his voice gruff.
Even from here, Jez could see Masha’s bland, amused smile. “Well, it’s not dangerous for everyone. Most of it is very safe. But there is a rather large market of people who are looking for things on the more adventurous side, and when you ask to be shown around, you risk running into things that are perhaps a little more than your sensibilities are prepared for. I do apologize. I should have warned you, but I took you for customers with slightly more experience …” she trailed off delicately, letting the finely-barbed insult hang in the air. “Of course, I only serve customers here who like what I have to sell. If you aren’t interested, I’m happy to recommend one of the … tamer houses.”
Jez glanced over to where Radic had joined her, leaning up against the gambling hall walls out of sight of the boyevik. He caught her eye and raised an eyebrow. She gave a quick shake of her head.
The ideal situation, of course, was that the boyevik left without asking to use the entertainment. But the merest whiff of hesitation on Masha’s part could spell the end of their plan, so they’d have to bloody well be begging to leave.
“We’ll stay,” said the woman sharply, and Jez glanced back to the scene.
“I want you to book us a room, please, and show us the available entertainment.”
“Of course,” Masha murmured, lowering her head, but her slight smile was clearly visible. “A word on the house rules—entertainment here is of the highest quality. It’s not disposable. So please keep that in mind. If it comes back damaged beyond a couple days’ recuperation, you’ll be paying a fine, and damaged beyond repair, along with the fine, you’ll not set foot in here again. Your recreation, beyond getting intoxicated, happens in the private rooms or in the garden, please—if you want to make a public display we have places for that, but it’s reserved in advance.” She reached down and pulled out two chips, set into expensive-looking necklaces. “Once you pay, I’ll give you these. They’re your access chip while you’re here, although I’m the only one who can unlock the entertainment—I don’t want fights from people who’ve reserved one.”
“Very well,” said the woman coldly. There were a few moments where Masha took their credit chips, and Jez found herself wishing very much that their plan
hadn’t involved her keeping the plaguers out of her gambling hall, because her fingers were practically aching with the desire to cheat the bastards out of every last credit they owned.
She gave a long, regretful sigh, and Radic grinned at her. “If it makes you feel any better, kid, I’d pay good money to watch you cheat them blind.”
She grinned at him. “Figure they don’t know me well enough to want to kill me yet. Bet I could change their minds pretty quick.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “I still don’t know how you lived to grow up.”
She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, then turned back to the lobby.
She’d have to look at the cage now, if she wanted to see what was going to happen next, which was honestly a dilemma. Because even knowing what she knew, the cage made her want to vomit.
Still—
She took a deep breath, and let her eyes be pulled where every line of the setup of the room wanted to pull them.
She was pretty sure from what she remembered of their meeting the evening before, at least the part of it she was paying attention to, that there were going to be five or six people in the cages when the boyeviki first came in. Now they were down to two, as planned—a man and a woman. The man lay on a couch, wearing a robe that was falling enticingly open, but there was nothing at all enticing about the magnetic cuffs on his wrists and ankles. At least, nothing that she damn well got off on.
Although apparently there were people who did find that enticing. And hell, she could maybe see that if they were dressing up for fun. But people liking that when the cuffs were real, and the people inside them terrified and desperate?
The thought made her swallow back bile.
The woman was leaning up against the bars of the cage, her back to the boyeviki. Her outfit was a loose shift dress, hardly revealing, but the expensive fabric clung to her slender form. Even facing away from them, even chained, she had an obvious presence and grace.
Both boyeviki couldn’t seem to take their eyes from the woman.
Honestly, Jez could hardly blame them.
“We’ll take that one,” said the woman boyevik.