They walked through the main tower gate unchallenged and headed into Hemtark. Still dressed in his dirty Protector uniform, and with blood he had not yet had the chance to remove staining his face, Pandral drew some stares from the people they passed, but the Lord did not seem to notice. The streets were busy, some shops were still open, and laughter, conversation and smoke-filled warm air spilled out of the taverns they passed.
Pandral led him away from the noise and into an affluent residential area. It was not the Oval, but the houses spoke of luxury and stability. At the end of a street, Pandral climbed the steps of a double-fronted two-storey house and knocked on the door. It was opened by a man in expensive clothes who smiled at Pandral.
“Welcome back, sir. It is wonderful to see you again; it has been too long.”
“Thank you, Nox,” Pandral replied. “Is Candis in tonight?”
Nox nodded. “For you, sir, always.”
Pandral entered the house and Harper followed, still not clear about what was going on. Nox noted him and gave him a nod of welcome. “You have brought a friend with you, sir?”
Pandral smiled. “A friend… indeed I have. I require a bath, and my friend requires food, Nox.”
Nox nodded again, rubbing his hands together. “Very well. Follow me, good sirs.”
Yawning, his brain fuzzy and disconnected, Harper followed them into the house, the thought of food the only thing keeping his feet moving. Is this some sort of hotel? There were a few men sat at a bar in one room, talking in low voices. In the corner, a beautiful, well-dressed woman was laughing at something an exceptionally ugly man was saying. A thought stirred in Harper’s brain, an idea, but it was washed away by the effort required to climb the stairs, exhaustion hampering his thought process. Nox led them to rooms at the front of the house, across the landing from each other. Harper opened the door to the one assigned him and smiled at the soft, warm bed of stately proportions that dominated the space in which it sat. A comfortable night’s sleep. Thank you, Pandral. There was a warm fire backed up in the grate, giving the room a cosy glow. Pandral said something to Nox that Harper missed as he closed the door. Yawning again, he pulled his boots off, seating himself in front of the fire in a chair that he sank into with a gasp of pleasure. Pushing his legs out, Harper wiggled his toes in the warmth and gave a contented sigh. He was drifting, sleep close, when a knock at the door forced awareness upon him.
“Enter,” he said on reflex.
The door swung open and a young woman entered the room. She was wearing a dress that fitted her slim, curved figure perfectly, the black material looking silky soft as it floated over her creamy skin. Hair the colour of autumn-reddened leaves cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. Bright green eyes looked at him from a delicate oval face, and even the freckles sprinkled across her cheeks looked like they had been carefully placed for maximum impact. She was captivating, like dew on a spider’s web, delicate and glistening.
“Hello, sir, I am Shyla,” the woman said. “And as you are a new guest, I would advise you that you must not tell me your name.”
Confused, Harper stared. Following Shyla into the room was an older woman in the tabard of a household servant, a tray of food in her arms. Shyla directed the woman to place the food tray on the table at the end of the bed. Harper’s sleepy confusion deepened. Why had it taken two of them to deliver his meal? The old woman left and Shyla closed the door, remaining inside the room. Turning to face him, she smiled. Harper felt a potent liquid lust run like napalm into his bloodstream, just waiting for the spark to ignite it. It was an experience he had only ever had before with…
Amelia. Grey eyes, full of love and trust, held him in his mind, and the calm assurance of his wife’s presence in his heart helped to quell the unwanted passion of his traitorous body. With a gasp at his own stupidity, Harper realised where he was. It’s a brothel! An upmarket brothel to be sure, but that did not actually make it any better. Would Amelia mind if all I did was eat and sleep here? Harper thought, looking wistfully at the bed, the wonderful smell of cooked beef reaching him from the tray.
“You are awfully quiet,” Shyla said, sashaying towards him and curling into the chair on the other side of the fireplace, her green eyes wide enough to drag him in.
“I am very tired,” Harper admitted. This, at least, was the truth. “I really just want to eat and sleep.”
“But your friend has paid for me all night,” Shyla said with a small pout, confirming Harper’s assumptions, and his fears.
“That was very thoughtful of him,” Harper said. “However, I have no wish for female company.” Except Amelia’s…
“Oh…” Shyla said, brightening. “Would you like me to send for one of our boys to join us?”
Harper rolled his eyes. “No, thank you, no boys.” Shyla opened her mouth and Harper beat her to it. “And before you suggest it, no animals either.”
“What a shame,” Shyla said with a sly grin. “We have a very attractive goat…”
Harper chuckled, feeling some of his melancholy lift.
“I was actually going to offer you a massage, if you would like one,” Shyla said.
Harper swallowed. The thought of her fingers tracing circles over his trembling flesh suddenly popped into his head as the napalm came back in a rush.
“Thank you for the offer,” Harper said. “But eating and sleeping are the extent of my ambitions for tonight.”
“Very well,” Shyla said. “But could I stay?”
Harper frowned. “I am not going to change my mind.”
“No, I do not believe you will,” Shyla said.
Harper heard the words, but the meaning he gave them was ‘No, I do not believe you, Will.’ My mind is playing tricks on me! Getting up, he moved towards the food, looking for a distraction.
“I will keep you company while you eat,” Shyla added, and Harper caught the slight hint of desperation in the words, the darkness in her eyes, and wondered what lay outside the room that made spending time with a perfect stranger seem more appealing. Sitting down at the table in front of his meal, Harper sighed, feeling a stab of sympathy for the girl and, if he was honest, a desire to not be alone.
“Yes, you can stay, Shyla. Would you like to share some of this food?”
With a delighted grin, Shyla sat at the table’s other chair and tucked into the mountain of food. As they ate, they chatted with each other, and Harper found that Shyla was intelligent, witty and educated. Amused at his surprise when he discovered she could read and write, Shyla explained that she was the daughter of a wealthy spice merchant and had enjoyed a life of privilege until she was fifteen—at which time her father had crossed a Lord of Mydren and subsequently disappeared into the Central Tower dungeons, never to return. Having no family and no way to pay the bills, her mother had killed herself, and Shyla, an only child, had been sold to Nox’s brothel by her father’s creditors, looking to recoup some of their losses.
As Shyla told her story, Harper felt a rush of pity for the woman, although she clearly had none for herself. Shyla may have looked soft and delicate, but she had an inner resilience—Harper could see it in her eyes and her bearing. She had not been brought low by events; she had risen above them. Her life might not be what she wanted, but she was determined to make the best of it and enjoy every opportunity for happiness. Harper admired her for that.
Sensation came back slowly. He lay on his side, his left arm numb, a head heavy upon it. His right arm wrapped around something warm and soft, something which moved with the slow, regular, deep breaths of slumber. Harper knew immediately who slept next to him, cradled in his tight embrace. He could smell the orange blossom in her hair, and the subtle fragrance of her skin was threatening to set alight the lust that he recognised was still pumping around his body. He lay still, waiting for the guilt, but none came. He had taken himself to bed, alone, and his beautiful companion had squirmed in next to him. Exhausted, his hunger gone, his headache muted by the relaxation movin
g through a body that felt cocooned and safe, Harper had seen no reason to ask her to leave. And so they had snuggled in the bed together. But while Harper had removed his Protector’s tunic, the rest of his clothes had stayed firmly in place, as had Shyla’s, at his insistence.
For the first time in months he had slept well. He had allowed his defences to drop, body and mind tranquil. If he spoke English in his sleep, what would Shyla care? If he said things he should not in Dwarfish even, he felt sure they would go no further, if for no other reason than the protection of the brothel’s clearly rich clientele. Harper could not imagine that Amelia would begrudge him this one night of peace and security, this tiny moment in time when he had allowed himself the serenity that came from falling asleep pretending the heartbeat he could feel under his arm and the soft snoring he could hear belonged to the woman he loved.
Shyla stirred.
“Would you like to do something about that?” she asked in a sleepy, contented purr, while gently rubbing the curve of her bottom into the part of him that, against his wishes, was demanding her attention. She turned her head back, looking at him over one perfect shoulder. Her deep green eyes, framed with heavy, dark lashes, were enticing and seductive. Harper sighed, carefully extracting himself and getting out of bed.
“No, thank you, Shyla,” he said, moving to retrieve his tunic and boots. “It is morning and time I was gone. Thank you for the companionship. It was lovely to meet you.”
Shyla gave him a smile. It was not the bold, sexy mask of the night before, not designed to tempt him; rather, it conveyed simple pleasure, gratitude and a little sadness.
“I do not believe anybody has spent the night with me before and left praising my conversational skills,” Shyla said. “You are a strange man. I wish it was within our rules to know your name.”
Harper smiled. Moving to the bed, he leant over and kissed her forehead.
“Goodbye, Shyla.”
It was past dawn, and Harper was not surprised to learn from Nox that Pandral had already left, leaving him with a sealed letter to get him past the gate guard when he returned. As he walked back to the Central Tower, he allowed the damp cold of the autumn morning to blast the last vestiges of passion from his body. He felt much more himself again, stronger and more in control than he had been in a while. And when he reached the office, rested and calm, he surveyed the noise, bustle and confusion with amusement. Tower servants were moving in all directions, packing, lifting and moving crates. In the middle of it all, directing their efforts like an orchestra conductor, stood Pandral. He smiled when he spotted Harper.
“Everybody,” Pandral ordered. “Take what you have to the new office and then come back here.”
A steady stream of men, transporting boxes, paintings and furniture, walked out of the office, and soon only Harper was left, staring at Pandral amid the half-emptied room. Harper closed the door.
“Thank you for last night,” he said. “It is the best night’s sleep I have had in a while.”
Pandral arched an eyebrow. “You spent the night with arguably the most beautiful woman in Hemtark—and definitely the most expensive—but you are thanking me for the sleep?”
Realising his mistake, Harper gave Pandral a sheepish smile. “The rest was great, too, of course, but honestly, I love my sleep. At this point in my life a warm, soft bed ranks just as highly as a warm, soft woman. And the two combined? Bliss.”
“You are getting old, my friend,” Pandral told him with a smirk.
“Strange, because I felt rather young and vigorous last night!” Harper lied.
Pandral laughed. “Come along, Harper, let me show you our new rooms.”
The new suite was very impressive and Harper wondered just how many levels of ‘Lordship’ Pandral had bypassed to obtain them. The main room that would serve as their office was so large that it needed two fireplaces to heat it effectively. Off this main office, at one end, were Pandral’s living quarters: a private study, bedroom and bathroom, all light, airy, well-appointed rooms. And at the opposite end of the office were three small bedrooms for Pandral’s staff, a kitchen and a shared bathroom.
“You are going to need more furniture, my Lord,” Harper said, looking at the space around them as servants deposited what they had brought.
“I am writing an order up now. Should I add a warm, comfortable bed to the list for your room?” Pandral asked.
“My room?”
Pandral smiled at Harper’s surprise. “You are a sergeant now. Admittedly to only three men, but a sergeant nonetheless, and this means you get your own room and the pay rise you asked for.”
“I… thank you, my Lord,” Harper said. His own room… privacy for the first time in over a decade. The concept was overwhelming.
“Later today we will go over possible men for our group. Perhaps for my new manservant I should choose that kitchen boy, the one Aldrich likes to slap. Bengi, I think his name is…” Pandral mused, before his gaze moved back to Harper’s amused smile. “Go back to the old office with the servants,” Pandral ordered. “Ensure they bring everything else here.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Harper replied, with a short bow of respect that brought a wry smile to Pandral’s lips.
The old office was empty and still. The last servant had left, bowed under the weight of the chair from behind Pandral’s desk. Harper, having done a quick double check that they had everything, was turning to leave when he discovered Lord Ulchan in the doorway. There was fury in the man’s expression and a vindictive hatred in his eyes. Fear flashed through Harper’s mind, but he faced the Lord with a calm gaze.
“How may I help you, my Lord?”
Ulchan moved into the room, closing the door firmly behind him. He walked towards Harper, a cunning smile spreading across his face.
“You will give Lord Pandral a message for me,” Ulchan said, his tone one of dark rage.
“Certainly, my Lord,” Harper agreed. Not fooled by the benign nature of the task, he watched to the limit of his vision, without turning his head, as Ulchan walked behind him. The Lord’s body language spoke of violence. While a physical attack on a Lord by another Lord carried a heavy penalty, Protectors did not have this same consideration. Davlin had warned him of this, and Harper knew there was nothing to stop Ulchan from attaching his message, whatever it might be, to Harper’s lifeless body. And if the Lord chose to do so, Harper could not fight back; raising a hand against a Lord of Mydren would see him hanged. All he could do was hope that Lord Ulchan did not hate Pandral enough to want him dead.
Ulchan’s bulk came back into Harper’s peripheral vision from behind him and the Lord let his fist fly a moment later. Rocking back, moving in the direction of the punch, Harper felt only a tight sting as the blow grazed his cheek. Unfortunately, this was not the street brawl with a drunk that he had grown accustomed to as a Protector. Ulchan was a trained pugilist and knew that Harper had purposely dodged the strength of his punch. So the Lord followed up with a powerful jab to Harper’s ribs, which made him gasp as he folded to his knees. The next three blows were all tight, controlled and precise: left eye, right side of his jaw and nose. Bright lights exploded across Harper’s vision, blurring it, the edges darkening. His nose was not broken, but it hurt, and the distinctive copper taste filled his mouth as blood ran into it and down his chin. Dizzy, he dropped forward. With effort, Harper held himself up on all fours, expecting kicks to his ribs at any moment, and then knelt, taking a few breaths before looking up at Ulchan, who smiled smugly at him.
“You have a message, my Lord?” Harper asked, his voice as strong as he could make it; he would not show this bully his fear and pain.
“Miraway Gee died this morning in a tragic riding accident,” Lord Ulchan said, and Harper could see genuine grief in the man’s eyes, along with a desire for vengeance.
The Night Paws! Lord Tarplan had Miraway assassinated!
Ulchan grasped Harper’s hair, pulling his head back. “Tell Lord Pandral,” he snarled, “
that I know he found Rodin and that somehow he is responsible for Miraway’s death. I will not forget this, and one day I will make him regret it.” Releasing Harper, Ulchan stalked out of the room.
His head bowed, Harper waited until he had the strength to stand. He felt no distress over Miraway’s death, only relief that Rodin would be able to go home to his mother and sister without fear. When Harper returned to their new offices, Pandral was angry to learn of Ulchan’s actions, but there was nothing he could do. And when Harper told him about Miraway’s death, Pandral voiced his suspicions about a group of shadowy men who did the bidding of the higher Lords, killing on demand. Knowing quite a bit more on the subject than Pandral, Harper kept his knowledge to himself, wondering where the true power of the Lords was held.
The weeks and then months passed, and they forgot about Ulchan as they established and trained their team and began investigating the cases that they were given. At the request of Fergus, Rudd became part of their group, thus saving him from the regular beatings he was taking from Marit and his friends. What he lacked in intelligence he compensated for with hard work and the occasional unknowingly brilliant observation. And what they lost in intelligence with Rudd, they made up for with Patryk, who took to their work with a purpose, impressing even Pandral with his rational deduction. A Protector called Lev also joined them, recommended by one of Pandral’s old captains for his intelligence. Lev was quiet and self-contained, but soon became another logical mind that helped them with their work. The cases they were given to solve ranged from the mysterious death of a Lord’s favourite servant, in a room locked from the inside—carbon monoxide poisoning due to a dead bird blocking the chimney—to a large theft of jewellery from an expensive shop near the Oval, which had the locals demanding action. While investigating this latter case they uncovered a crime ring and found that the members were responsible for many of the recent deaths in Hemtark.
Will (Book 2) Page 69