Virgin City (The Lesbia Chronicles)

by Loki Renard

  Mace went around with a hat and took what the ratlings had to offer. It took a few minutes, then she was back, presenting the upturned headgear to Reed.

  Upon inspection the hat was found to contain a couple of brass coins, a copper ring, some nails, a lock pick, three pieces of candy, seven rolled liefs, a match, and a blue piece of ribbon.

  "This is it?" She held the hat up in disgust. "We need gold. Cold hard gold."

  The ratlings avoided her glare. They didn't have cold hard gold. That's what made them ratlings. Any cold hard gold they came into soon went into the pockets of tavern owners or street gamblers or ladies of the evening, or one of the other distractions Clitera City provided her citizens.

  "By the goddess," she cried. "Do you expect us to do everything? Do you expect Rog to break himself on the rack? Shall I reach up my ass and pull out the coin?"

  "There's something up there," someone muttered from the shadows to titters of amusement.

  Reed dashed the hat to the ground. "I'll have each and every one of you whipped. Rog, go get that one." She pointed at the closest ratling who had cracked a smile.

  "Calm down, Reed," Rog said. "I think they understand."

  "Understand? They don't understand," Reed insisted. "They think this is funny. It's not funny. It's serious. It's seriously serious."

  "It is serious," Rog agreed, taking her to the side and speaking softly. "But yelling at people won't fix it. It's not their fault those three are in jail."

  "It's their fault they're a pack of self-centered fools who aren't going to lift a finger to help," Reed hissed. "Look at them. They're just sitting there, gormless. Waiting for their next hit. Half of them are too high to even understand what I'm saying.

  "That was you a week ago," Rog pointed out. "Give them a break."

  "A break? I give them a break and they'll all be swinging by their necks within a month," Reed hissed.

  "I don't think so, Reed. Calm down, alright? We'll go ask Granny."

  "They're lucky I don't have my abilities right now," Reed said. "I'd turn them all into toads. I'd turn them into toads and I'd make them eat flies for a week."

  "You know what you need to do?" Rog squeezed Reed's shoulder. "You need to get out of this place. Forget about the ratlings for a while. Now everyone is briefed, what say we go to the market? You like the market."

  Reed did like the market. She liked it for the bustling and the hustling and the merchants and their many goods. She liked it for illicitly sampling wares and for slipping the odd coin out of the pocket of a passerby.

  "Not a bad idea, Rog," she said. "Not a bad idea at all.”

  *****

  The market, held in the clearing below the bush which surrounded the raised palace, was in full swing when Reed and Rog arrived. There were hundreds of people, all milling about between stalls, looking for this or that or nothing at all.

  Rog and Reed had no money with which to purchase wares, but that did not mean they would not be eating. Reed swiped a couple of apples, which they ate whilst making a circular patrol about the perimeter of the market, making note of the merchants in possession of desirable merchandise.

  There was a very nice fur coat that Reed liked the look of. It would be the perfect thing to keep her warm on the colder nights. It was too big to steal, however. If they wanted it, they were going to have to steal the money to buy it.

  For Reed, stealing coins at the market was about as easy as picking apples from a tree. People were being jostled on all sides, so it was no difficulty to reach out, dip her fingers nimbly into a passing purse and impose an unofficial tax upon those who happened to be in her vicinity. The fur coat cost thirty gold pieces, quite a significant amount for a low income member of Clitera society. That amount could be pilfered inside an hour or two at a busy market however, so Reed set to work.

  She had a good ten pieces and was about to have an eleventh when someone trodded on her toes. Hard.

  "Hey," Reed scowled at the clumsy shopper. "Watch where you're going."

  "Watch where your fingers are."

  The trodder turned out to be the rightful owner of the eleventh coin. She also turned out to be a tall woman with silken black hair. It fell to her shoulders in a dark, glossy curtain which contrasted sharply with the pale cream of her skin. She was wearing no small amount of make up, her lips were rouged and her brows were shaped to within an inch of their lives. Care had been taken to highlight sharp cheekbones and a fine jaw which was perhaps a little too square. But she could have had a potato for a face and still have made an impression due to the curious quality of her eyes. There was nothing particularly notable about their color or shape or size. It was the expression they held, a keen intellect, an expression of total and utter comprehension. Reed had never realized how confused the average person seemed until she looked into this woman's eyes and saw utter certainty.

  "Who are you?"

  Thin brows quirked as if to say, who are you to ask who I am?

  For the moment, Reed had forgotten about the absence of her powers. She felt incredibly territorial. Whoever this stranger was, she was a threat. Reed did not know everybody in Clitera City, of course, but she knew all the dangerous ones. This woman was a danger - an unknown danger at that. Reed could feel it in the pit of her stomach and in the very marrow of her bones.

  "Come on, Reed," Rog said, looping his arm around her shoulders. "Let's go get some meat."

  "No," Reed said. "Not until this woman apologizes and tells me who she is."

  "My name is no concern of yours," the woman said. "You do not need to know who I am. All you need to know is that I have seen your attempt at petty theft and if you do not leave this market at once, I will call the city guard."

  Reed laughed in the woman's face. "The city guard? Call them if you like. As for leaving the market, this is my market. This is my city. You are the one who should leave."

  The woman reached out as a passing merchant came by with a basket of grapes, plucked a small bunch off the top and tossed the merchant the coin Reed had tried to steal. She then proceeded to eat the grapes one at a time, evincing great enjoyment as she did.

  "You have no idea how fortunate you are," Reed said. "Had you come a week earlier..."

  "Run along, little rat," the woman interrupted. "Heed your husband."

  "He is not my husband!" Reed hissed with indignation. "I do not spread my legs for men."

  "Mores the pity," the stranger said, casting an approving look at Rog. "He is handsome and he is brave and he knows what it is to be loyal."

  "You don't know him," Reed growled.

  "I know he is in the habit of fighting, not for the sake of aggression, but to protect those he cares about. I know he is handsome, for that is self evident and I know that he loves you."

  "Love?" Reed turned and scowled at Rog. "You don't love me, do you?"

  "I love all the ratlings," Rog replied.

  "Such a diplomat," the woman smirked.

  "How do you know these things?" Reed turned back to the woman. “Do you have any reason to make such claims?”

  The woman gave her a pitying, must I really explain this to you, you little dullard, sort of look. "I know he fights, for he bears the bruises of recent brawling. I know he takes no pleasure in the fighting, because men who do are usually in the habit of sizing up each and every male who crosses their path. He does not do that. Indeed, he has eyes for almost no-one besides your no doubt undeserving self. It makes him a very poor look-out."

  "You speak lies," Reed said. "You are a trickster and a knave. I will find out who you are and I will run you out of this city. You mark my words."

  "Run me out of the city?" The woman's lips quirked with untold amusement. "Is that so?" She moved to avoid the path of a mule carrying heavy bags of berries, and as she did so her cloak parted for a moment. An amulet that was hung around her neck but had been hidden out of sight under her cloak briefly became visible. It gleamed gold, shaped in the form of a pendant. The inside
of the gold had been made hollow and filled with pure crystal diamond. At the very center of the piece sat a black gem. It was the black gem that drew the ratlings' eyes, made them round like dinner plates.

  Reed and Rog drew back as one, both growing pale. They squeezed one another's hands, a signal that preceded the not at all brave act of running through the crowd as fast as their legs could take them.

  "I was wrong," Reed panted when they had safely gained the side streets of the High Lanes. "I do know her. I know that jewel at least. I just never laid eyes on her before. She's the court witch. The one they call the Widow." Reed shuddered. "Oh how I loathe witches.... why are you smiling?"

  "That gem," Rog said. "If we can steal that gem, we can bail the ratlings out of any jail in Lesbia for as long as any of us are alive."

  "You want to steal the Widow's gem." Reed rolled her eyes. "And who would we sell that to, Rog? Nobody is going to buy it. It would be like buying a death sentence. Besides, who do we know who has the gold to buy it?"

  Rog's face fell. "Good points," he admitted. "That thing... it must be worth..."

  "I can tell you what it's not worth, dear boy. It's not worth your life."

  Rog and Reed froze. It was a silly reaction. The Widow could clearly see them, and playing statues wasn't going to help. The most embarrassing part of the whole mess was that not only had they failed to escape, try as they might to peer into surrounding nooks and crannies, they could not see from whence they were being observed.

  "Up here." There was a certain note of condescension in her tone, mixed with pity. Reed and Rog looked up to see that the Widow now stood on a balcony above, her scintillating smile gleaming hypnotically.

  "Many brave men have died for this bauble," she said, spreading her hands wide on the railing and bending over so that both the jewel and the mounds of her breast were visible. "They thought it would bring them riches, or fame. What do you think it will bring you?"

  "Gold, with which to free our friends," Rog said. Reed scowled and nudged him. He shouldn't have been telling ratling business to strangers. Certainly not to this stranger.

  "Oh my dear sweet..." the Widow sighed. "To free your friends you would think of making a powerful enemy? They must be very close friends."

  "They're not," Reed said. "They're drunken wastrels who deserve their sentences."

  "But he wishes to save them regardless." The Widow rested her chin on her hands, her elbows on the balcony. "Such heroism."

  Reed did not like the way Rog was looking up at the woman. He had a smile on his face, not his diplomatic smile, a more genuine one.

  "These affairs are below you," she said in an attempt to get the Widow to leave.

  "You're right, they very much are. But you amuse me. The hero and his unrequited love. Tell me, Hero, how much gold do you need to save your friends?"

  Rog told the Widow the number. She laughed, then detached a pouch from her waist and tossed it down to him. "There is twice that amount there."

  Holding the purse with a stunned expression on his face, Rog shook his head. "I cannot accept your gold, m'lady."

  "Of course you can," the Widow replied. "You were considering stealing my gem just a moment ago."

  "I should be indebted to you, were I to accept this."

  "Yes," she said, her dark lips quirking. "You should be. But come to my chambers and I will give you the opportunity to work off some of your debt."

  There was no doubting what the Widow was implying. It was outrageous, beyond Reed's comprehension.

  "He won't do that, not in a million..."

  "Quiet," Rog said to Reed. He then lifted his eyes skyward, and the smile that Reed did not like spread wider. "M'lady, I would be honored to go to your chambers."

  "You would be," the Widow said. "Ask for me at the palace gates." With one last triumphant glance at Reed, she withdrew from the balcony, apparently having broken and entered a stranger's home without the slightest difficulty or shame.

  Reed grabbed Rog hard and hissed in his ear. "You are not going to have sex for money, Rog. That makes you a..."

  "What choice do we have, Reed?" Rog pressed the pouch of gold into her hand. "We have the money. Take it to Jailer Hide. Free the ratlings. I will see you later." He made to move away, but she would not let him. She held fast to his sleeve until he patiently and gently peeled her fingers away and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Don't worry about me."

  "Rog..."

  He turned back to her. "What, Reed? Is there some reason I should not go?"

  The moment stretched out between them. Reed realized that the Widow had been right about some things. Rog was waiting for a declaration of feelings she did not have and could not have. Reed considered telling him what he wanted to hear, but she could not bring herself to lie to her friend.

  She bit her lip and shook her head. "No. I suppose there isn't."

  Rog smiled a small, almost pained, smile. "See you later, Reed." He turned and walked back toward the market, back toward the palace and the chambers and the Widow.

  Reed had never known holding a bag of gold could feel so very terrible. Turning slowly around, she walked toward the prison at the head of Lake Lac. Usually she would have been excited at the prospect of seeing Jailer Hide, but the shine was beginning to wear off that particular fixation. The shine was beginning to wear off a lot of things. The city which had once seemed so deeply, personally hers was starting to seem like just another place filled with other people, entirely separate and discreet from her. The reins of control had slipped from her hands, and with it, her enthusiasm for existence in general.

  "Here." Reed pushed through the prison door and dumped half the sack of gold coins on Jailer Hide's desk. "This is for the bounty for those idiot ratlings. Let them out, would you?"

  Jailer Hide looked up from her ledger with suspicion. "How did you come by this coin?"

  "I didn't steal it, if that's what you're thinking. Rog earned it."

  "Did he now?"

  "Yes, he has taken to pleasing the high born ladies of Clitera in return for gold."

  "Ah." Jailer Hide began counting the gold. Apparently that was a good enough explanation for her. "Shall I release them into..."

  Reed didn't hear the rest of the question, because she'd left the jail house, thoroughly disinterested in what happened next. Jailer Hide could release the ratlings into the river for all she cared. What was the point of a tribe if it was filled with those interested only in themselves? Where was the loyalty? Back in Aric's day, there would have been an uproar if a Ratling were arrested. They would have been liberated forthwith and then paid the penalties for their crimes many times over.

  But Rog was not Aric and the Ratlings were no longer the Ratlings. They were a band of ingrates and addicts and now that Reed's eyes had been opened to the fact, she could no longer feel at home in their midst.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Trying to put out of head the indecent acts Rog was no doubt performing, Reed went from Jailer Hide's prison to Granny Rogette's tavern. She was not in the habit of going where Ayla the witch was likely to be, but the safe houses would be empty, and she did not wish to be alone. She certainly was in no mood to socialize with the other ratlings.

  The Rusty Hankor was busy when she walked in, but she found Ayla and Atrocious, Rogette and Crispin, all sitting about as friendly as can be at a table near the fireplace, surrounded by the revelers and the untethered drinkers who regularly let themselves loose upon the city.