by Mark Smylie
Of course, turning up toward the Old Quarter might well have been a signal to them of a man’s poor intentions, as the Old Quarter was where most of the city’s brothels and streetwalkers could be found. But the Princes of the Guild who ran the Old Quarter had long ago made it worthwhile for the Watch to spend its energies elsewhere, and so soon she found herself walking past dancing halls and taverns, with drunken men and scantily clad dancers visible through the doors and windows, if not spilling out into the streets. Heavily inebriated men singing loudly walked past her, stumbling past couples discreetly heading to apartment doorways. A bit further up and painted women were actively trolling the street, greeting her with smiles that ranged from the genuine to the desperate, while street urchins begged for coin and eyed her purse, or offered themselves for sale. But she merely shook her head politely at each invitation and kept going.
She finally turned into a wide cobble-stoned alley off Wall Street and nodded her head nonchalantly to the two bravos leaning against the wall and warming their hands over a fire in a large metal bucket as she passed them. They gave her a quick once-over and she wasn’t sure if they recognized her, but at least they didn’t read her as a threat. She walked down to the unmarked metal gates built into a large arch in the north wall, and knocked on it twice. A spy hole in the gate slid open, and a pair of dull, heavy-lidded eyes stared down at her for a long moment. The plate slid shut, and then the gate creaked open. She nodded at the big burly men standing behind the gate, and let the growling Highland pit bulls that they had on leashes sniff the back of her hand, then walked through the short cobble-stoned entry passage and out into a large courtyard. Horses and even a couple of coaches were lined up to one side, either tied to hitching posts or held by squires or menservants. On the other side of the courtyard she passed into a covered arcade, and followed it until she reached the top of a dark, broad stairwell with a single silent sentinel. She nodded to him then followed the stairs down. At the landing she turned in through a doorway under the building. There were no lights here, so she had to feel her way along the passage, taking two turns, until she felt heavy brocade curtains in front of her. She pushed her way through, and blinked in the dim candlelight. She nodded at the two big burly men in the small chamber, and they nodded back. She could hear music and voices from beyond the next curtains, and she crossed the chamber in a few short steps and pushed her way through the velvet brocade curtains into the Sleight of Hand.
Gilgwyr is, if nothing else, a showman, she thought as she paused at the entrance to the long vaulted brothel hall decorated in imitation of a sumptuous harem. The hall was more brightly lit with candles and low braziers, but still managed to seem dark and dangerous. Drummers and musicians were putting out a sinuous, rhythmic music; raucous laughter and cries of passion punctuated the smoky air, while barely-clad dancers shimmied and shook on tabletops. A rough-trade crowd of wealthy johns and dandies from every part of the city, rival pimps and prostitutes, Marked Men and their crews with black teardrops drawn by the corners of their eyes in mourning, and other denizens of the night and the city’s underworld filled the room almost to bursting, all of them come to lose themselves in the intoxicating bit of theater created by their host. There were far more of them than she could count. She could even see what she guessed were perhaps as many as thirty masked lords and ladies, slumming it amongst the other common customers and brave enough to rub elbows with men who would gladly rob them elsewhere: men like Petterwin Grim, still handsome despite his scars, and a half dozen of his Grimsmen, and old Potter Aelias and his crew, taking a night off from preying on foreign sailors on the docks. She spotted Jon Dhee, master of the Market Quarter, his long stringy hair coming down in front of his mean, scrunched up face, and then she spotted the unmistakable profile of Long Nose Ludwyn, a notoriously cruel rapist. All four were Marked Men of the Guild, but still the blacklisted Red Rob Asprin was nonchalantly sitting a few tables over with several of his men, sipping a glass of wine while a pretty blonde Aurian dancer slobbered all over his erect cock; two masked Aurian noblewomen stood nearby, watching the casual show with excited eyes and parted lips. Mina the Dagger, called by some the most vicious and terrifying woman in the city, was over by a long wood bar with a tall thin pretty boy on each arm; Erim knew that despite their painted, bored faces and frilled doublets that her boy toys were expert duelists, with over a dozen kills apiece. Mina had several women from her stable with her and they looked like they were happy for the night off. A wild-eyed Helgi Ketildram drunkenly stumbled past her, shirtless, his massive muscles and the barbaric designs on his inked skin enough to part the startled crowd of johns and dandies. He was trailed by several of his girls, and they didn’t look happy in the least.
She was already impressed with the evening’s roll of deviants and delinquents when she spotted the Gilded Lady holding court in a corner, along with her ladies-in-waiting, and she almost let out a low whistle that Gilgwyr was getting Princes of the Guild into the Hand. The Gilded Lady was of course not a lady at all (and neither were her ladies), but a man whom Stjepan said had once gone by the name of Cole the Killer. Even with a Prince present in the room, there were plenty of grudges that out on the street could rapidly lead to drawn swords and daggers and bloodshed, even amongst the Marked, but Gilgwyr was a respected independent and she figured it would take a lot of alcohol to make any of them break the law of hospitality.
The crowd parted a bit on her left and Erim almost did a double take. A woman was passing through the johns and dandies toward her, topless, her shapely bronze body glistening in the firelight with oil and gold dust. She wore a jeweled black lace choker and a black-feathered raven half-mask, gold armbands and bracelets, and a loosely-woven fishnet dress tied low about her hips that did little to conceal her shaved pubic mound. A red velvet wrap that was chained to her bracelets trailed behind her. Long legs and black chunk-heeled ankle boots made her seem taller than she was. Her fingernails were long, almost like spikes, and were painted black. Between her full breasts and pierced nipples hung a long ivory unicorn horn, suspended from a gold chain around her neck. There was no mistaking her outfit, or lack thereof: she was dressed as a priestess of the Forbidden Cult of Ligrid, the Goddess of Perversion.
Oh, you go too far, Gilgwyr, Erim thought. Is that unicorn horn real? Gilgwyr had steadily built the Sleight of Hand into virtually hallowed ground for the city’s underworld, not simply with the quality of his stock, but with a steady showman’s hand and an eye toward lewd, obscene, and yet totally artful performance. Many in the crowd, for example, were watching in a mix of awe and lust as a nude dancer spun and contorted in midair using long silk scarves dangling from a chandelier, her aerial dancing a new kind of spectacle in the city. But to have a woman dressed as a priestess of the Nameless Cults was to be genuinely inviting the unwanted attention of the Inquisition and the City Watch. She shook her head.
“A most excellent costume,” she said and bowed slightly as the priestess passed her by. She inhaled the woman’s scent, and she smelled of gold and lavender and sex.
“This isn’t a costume,” the woman replied, looking at and startling Erim with piercing black eyes. Erim felt like she was nailed to the floor, unable to break the woman’s gaze; she was almost overcome with a sense of age, and deep wisdom, and an unfathomable corruption. The priestess reached up and stroked Erim’s face with a finger, and the sharp point of her long nail nicked Erim’s lip. Erim started at the sharp pain, the spell broken, and she frowned and brought her hand to her mouth as the priestess licked the tip of her fingernail, smiled at her, and moved on into the crowd.
Holy shit, Erim thought. What the fuck is Gilgwyr playing at? She flushed and looked around as she checked her mouth to see if it was bleeding, wondering if anyone had seen the exchange; but no one nearby seemed to be paying her any attention. Deeply unsettled, she decided to find Stjepan and Harvald as quickly as possible.
She brushed her way through the crowd, glancing this way and that,
until she found herself in the circle of men watching the suspended dancer. Erim paused for a moment, admiring the lithe, athletic body and long, copper-skinned limbs of the woman as she spun and twirled through the air. The way she used the silks to hold herself up and in the air made her seem like a magician who could fly, and Erim knew how strong and flexible the woman had to be to hold the poses she was taking for the crowd’s delight. Hair’s too curly to be an Athairi, so maybe a Palatian, Erim thought. Another coup for Gilgwyr. The Palatian dancer glanced over and caught her eye; there was a spark there, but a different one than with the pretend priestess. The dancer pivoted in the air slightly, reworking her limbs and her silks, and then suddenly she swiveled and her whole body reversed until she was dangling upside-down in front of Erim, her pelvis swinging gently before Erim’s face and her head level with Erim’s codpiece, her legs scissored wide and feet pointed at opposite walls and the winking lips of her vulva puckering in invitation.
“Go on, boy, have a taste!” someone in the raucous crowd yelled, and a cheer went up around her.
“Gold, wine, women . . . and gems the size of your fucking head,” Erim whispered to herself. “Hope you found the Heavens, Guilford.” She leaned in a bit, and took a heady whiff of the Palatian’s sweet aroma.
Someone sidled up to her and slipped an arm over her shoulder, and joined her in eyeing the dancer’s proffered pelvis. She knew it was Gilgwyr without having to look, but she did anyway. He was dressed in subtle and expensive finery, a golden-yellow silk doublet with gold thread embroidery on the long sleeves, black and gold puffed trunk knickerbockers, and black hose and boots. A black sash crossed his chest, pinned with a gold brooch in the shape of a curled dragon. He could be arrested for that outfit in the streets, as the city’s sumptuary laws prohibited cloth-of-gold for anyone not of noble birth. But then, I suppose this is the King and Knave of Coins in the flesh, she mused.
“So, Erim, what do you think of Guilford’s wake?” he asked her, nuzzling her ear.
“Ah, is that why so many of the Marked are here, and a Prince of the Guild as well?” she asked.
“Yes, I have some special treats in store for our friends to mark the occasion,” he said. He had a pursed, wicked smile and one raised eyebrow as he contemplated the visual spread before him. “I see you have met her cunt, but have you had the pleasure of being introduced to Ariadesma, our newest import all the way from far Palatia Archaia?” he asked. “Tonight is her debut.”
“I have not,” said Erim. “A most impressive performance, Ariadesma.”
“Ariadesma, this is Master Erim, one of my close friends,” Gilgwyr said.
“Ana plaisant’a connaita. A pleasure to meet you, Master Erim,” said upside-down Ariadesma, with a heavy Palatian accent that Erim found instantly endearing.
“Ariadesma was a dancer in the Palatian capital, but felt her true potential was not being reached, and so she made her way to Lagapoli and spent several years in training at the temples to Dieva there. The silks are just a taste of her skills; her performance is just getting started tonight. I’ve got to get her in training for something truly special,” said Gilgwyr, then he leaned in closer. “I hear you are breaking the hearts of all of my dancers one by one,” whispered Gilgwyr in her ear. “They pine for you, for your handsome beauty, and ever seem disappointed that they do not win your favor. Are you really so experienced as to be the master seducer?”
“Oh, you might be surprised,” shrugged Erim.
“Careful, young Erim. Very little surprises me,” said Gilgwyr, straightening a bit and speaking a bit louder. “And where is our dear friend Stjepan?”
Erim turned her head so she could whisper in his ear. “Right behind you,” she said.
Gilgwyr turned, a bemused expression on his face, and Stjepan was standing right behind them, dressed in a tight high-collared black leather doublet, black breeches, and high black leather boots. He nodded casually at Gilgwyr, who grinned in response.
“Stjepan Black-Heart, old boy. Where have you been? You’re late,” said Gilgwyr as he disentangled himself from around Erim. The two men embraced, and Gilgwyr took the opportunity to whisper in his ear. “Leigh’s waiting. But the Gilded Lady wishes a word.”
“Can’t keep Leigh waiting, can we? But then, when a Prince of the Guild calls, you best answer,” Stjepan said, indicating that Gilgwyr should lead on. Erim stepped back from Ariadesma’s suspended body, and gave a slight bow. She noticed that the woman dressed as the Ligrid priestess stepped in behind her to take her place before Ariadesma’s opened and upside-down crotch, and would have stayed to see what happened next but Stjepan softly called her name.
She followed the two of them through the crowd over to the corner in which the Gilded Lady sat with her ladies-in-waiting. The Gilded Lady wore a black arched-front mourning bodice and silk damask dress over a cloth-of-gold petticoat with brocaded patterns. She wore jeweled bracelets and an ornamental gold girdle. A chain of office, made from a string of gold crowns, ducats, florins, and livres in imitation of the collars of the nobility, marked her as a Prince of the Guild. Her bodice came up to her chin, and under the high collar she wore a black lace choker over her apple. Her hair was black and swept up above her head in an elaborate coiffure, pinned in place with gold jewels. Her face was surprisingly untouched by makeup, unlike her ladies-in-waiting, who had faces painted pale and rouged cheeks. The Gilded Lady was content with heavy eyeliner and thick lashes, the gold eye shadow that inspired her name, and ruby red lips that she pursed in a pout. She looked fabulous. She and her ladies-in-waiting all bore a black tear, drawn in by the corner of their left eye. My kith and kin, thought Erim.
“My Lady,” said Stjepan with a bow. He kissed the offered hand of the Gilded Lady and then he took an empty seat that was offered to him across from the Guild Prince. Gilgwyr remained standing off to one side, and Erim took his cue to do the same.
“Black-Heart,” purred the Gilded Lady, her voice incongruously deep for her appearance. “It’s been too long.”
“It has, my Lady, but your beauty has only grown in the passing of the seasons,” Stjepan said with a half-smile.
“Flattery will get you everywhere, most especially onto the tip of my cock,” the Gilded Lady laughed, and her ladies-in-waiting laughed with her. Erim felt like they were sizing up both her and Stjepan like sides of meat. “Everywhere, of course, except off the blacklist.”
“I would never dare to ask such a favor of the Guild,” Stjepan said quietly. “The decision is a fair one, and I will stand by the Guild’s judgment, and wait for a summons to make amends, should it ever come.”
“You know the Fat Prince and the Red Wyrm will never want you back in the Guild’s good graces, for their own selfish reasons,” said the Gilded Lady. “But Mowbray and I shall do what we can, when we feel the time appropriate.”
“Then I will be in your debt,” Stjepan said, with a slight incline of his head.
The Gilded Lady paused, and Erim thought she saw the Lady’s eyes go moist. “Did . . . did he say anything about me?” the Gilded Lady asked. “In the moments before he died? I did not dare hope that after all these years . . .”
Stjepan shook his head. “I’m afraid not, my Lady,” he said quietly. “His last moments were spent in concern for the fate of his crew, and in fear of the Baalhazor that sought his doom. I wish it were otherwise.” The Gilded Lady and her ladies-in-waiting blanched at the mention of the Rahabi, and they all made signs to ward off the Evil Eye. “But we did talk a bit about his days in Therapoli on our journey up into the hills, and he did remember you with fondness.”
The Gilded Lady sobbed a bit, and then held her breath, as though fighting back a tear. She shook herself and gave an exasperated little cry. “What am I, some poor heartbroken damsel pining for the one that got away?” she exclaimed loudly. “Fuck that, I’m the Gilded Lady!” Her fist pounded down on the table and her ladies-in-waiting roared their approval lustily. “A toast to departed Guilfor
d!” she cried as her ladies-in-waiting poured brandy into glasses that were scattered about the tabletop. One was handed to Stjepan and he raised the glass to the ceiling before joining the others in downing it.
Stjepan smiled and stood, giving her a short bow. “I’m afraid I must take my leave of you, my Lady,” he said. “There is some urgent business that awaits us.”
“Without introducing me to your companion?” the Gilded Lady asked expectantly, licking her lips.
Stjepan paused and considered the Lady for a moment. “My apologies,” he said, and motioned to Erim. Erim stepped forward and gave a short bow. “This is Master Erim, a sure duelist if ever you need one.”
“Duelists, assassins, and murderers I have aplenty, my dear Black-Heart, but pretty young things that would look good bouncing up and down on my great, big cock are in short supply,” the Gilded Lady said with a dangerous-looking sneer, and Erim flushed a deep red. “Oh, and he even looks pretty when he blushes as well. Please do lend him to us when you’re done with him, and we’ll make sure he’s well taken care of.” Her ladies-in-waiting tittered.
Stjepan and Gilgwyr bowed and excused themselves, and Erim surprised herself by stepping forward and taking the offered hand of the Gilded Lady and giving it a kiss while looking into her eyes. “Oh, well done,” whispered the Lady to her with a wink, and then Erim turned and hurried off after Stjepan, swallowing her heart back into her chest.