The Fall of Ventaris

by Neil McGarry

  But she had other business this day, and other games to play. She waited as long as she could stand before moving toward the stairs to the second floor. A huge woman with a cloud of flaming red hair stood guard there, nearly as wide as she was tall. Adele was stronger than any woman and most men, and when she was not on duty at the Vermillion she made extra money arm-wrestling sailors at the Harsh Mistress. She’d rarely been defeated. One of those sailors, humiliated at being bested by a woman, attacked Adele outside, claiming he was searching for the cock he was sure she had. Adele replied that if he were looking for a cock she’d gladly tear off his own and send him away with it in hand. The gentleman in question had promptly decided he was not that curious, and whether or not it was true the tale ensured that visitors to the Vermillion behaved themselves beneath Adele’s watchful eye. Duchess had no cock to risk, but she trod carefully around Adele all the same.

  “Umm...Minette said, that I — ”

  “Yeah, she told me,” Adele replied, in a voice as large as she was. “Go on up, sweetie.”

  Upstairs, Daphne, dark and hair-tousled, was just closing a door on the left, belting a white silk robe around her. She was all rounded curves where Duchess was right angles, but the girl never seemed to hold that against her. She smiled and waved Duchess forward. “This one never falls asleep after,” she whispered, “so he’s awake and alert. A little too alert, if you ask me, and trying to get something for nothing.” She patted Duchess’ hand. “Good luck.” Then she was gone in a swirl of scented silk. Duchess never understood how mere moments after leaving a client Daphne never smelled like sex and sour sweat. A trade secret, she supposed.

  Duchess knocked at the door, waited a moment, and then entered. In contrast to the red parlor downstairs, everything in the room was white and green. Embroidered green drapes were pulled sensibly across the windows, and woven green mats graced the gleaming wooden floor. The massive bed was outfitted with snowy blankets, although the sheets were a deep green. To hide stains, Duchess guessed with a flicker of amusement. The room smelled of sweet herbs, but under it Duchess detected the odor of sweat and sex Daphne had lacked. A lantern on the mantle threw soft light into the room. A large, round man, clad in rumpled keeper’s robes, stood at a small table near a wall-hung mirror, washing from a white basin trimmed in green. He turned when she entered, his hood pulled back to reveal black hair, speckled here and there with gray. He had slight crinkles about his eyes, which were as deep a green as the sheets. She guessed he’d hardly seen forty summers, and could not help but be impressed that at so young an age he’d risen to the post of First Keeper.

  “What’s this?” he said in a voice thick with amusement. “Something free at the Vermillion?” He crossed to the bed. “I never dreamed I’d see the day. You’re no Daphne, it’s true, but you’ll do. I’m a bit exhausted, my dear, but if you’ll slip off those boy-clothes I’ll do my best to rise to the occasion.”

  Duchess stared for a moment, unused to lechery from a priest. “Are you Jadis? Minette sent me up...to talk.”

  Jadis laughed richly. “Now that’s a mystery. Most folk would rather pleasure a keeper than speak with one. Poor things: don’t know they’re living, don’t know they’re dead.” He sat on the bed and slapped his knee. “Have a seat, my precious, and we’ll speak of whatever you like.”

  Duchess coughed delicately, then crossed the room and carefully sat on an overstuffed green chair across from him. Jadis’ smile widened but he said nothing, leaving her to cast about for how to begin. “They call me Duchess.” Jadis raised an eyebrow and bowed politely from the waist without rising from his seat. Duchess pressed her lips together. “I understand that you are the kind of man who...knows how to make a deal.”

  Jadis leaned forward, hands on knees. “That’s what living is all about. So you like to drive a hard bargain, is that it? And here I thought Minette might have sent me a duchess for nothing. I happen to be fond of strong women, however, so let me find my coin purse and we’ll begin.” He patted around his robes with plump fingers.

  “Not that kind of deal,” she replied, nettled. “I want...that is, they say that the keepers of Mayu know everything there is to know about potions and remedies and...other concoctions.”

  He continued searching for his money as if he were barely paying attention. “You hear correctly, my dear, no surprise given those sweet little ears. Shall I nibble one as we talk?” She bit back her rejoinder, wondering if this sexual banter might not be a sly attempt to goad her into saying more than she should. Taking a deep breath, she tried again. “In the stories keepers can make someone seem dead even when he’s quite healthy.”

  Jadis left off his search and measured her with his eyes. “Many things grow in the Gardens of Mayu,” he said at last, his leers and laughter suddenly vanished. “But some of them are dangerous to the ignorant, and they’re all carefully accounted for. Mayu has granted us great honor in setting us over Her bounty, you see, and we tend it carefully.”

  Now she was getting through. “Which is why I have come to you.”

  He leaned back on the bed. “We keepers are thorough, but from time to time a bit of this or that goes missing from the alchemery. But replacing such a thing is costly.” His grin returned. “Have you coin, or do you plan to pay in trade?”

  He never quit. “Oh, gold isn’t a problem,” she said more casually than she felt. She had a number of florin left from Noam’s gift and the sale of the baron’s stolen crest and twenty more from Antony, but would it be enough? “But don’t name your price just yet. I need one other thing to go missing. A corpse.”

  He sat up. “And the mystery deepens. Now this is interesting. And precisely who is about to die?”

  It was her turn to smile. “A prisoner, one in Sheriff Takkis’ care, I believe.”

  “Ah yes...the incorruptible leader of the Saints.” Jadis laid a finger beside his nose, all innocence. “Does this prisoner have a name?”

  Duchess pretended to examine her nails. “Names are dangerous, don’t you think? Suffice to say the man has no family to mourn him...or at least none that can be mentioned.” The gleam in his eye showed he knew the prisoner to whom she was so obliquely referring. A clever man, which could be either good or bad, depending. “Which would mean that if — when — he dies, there will be no one to pay for his funeral. Unless I am mistaken, such a case would then involve the keepers, yes?”

  “The faithful of Mayu inter all the unmourned in paupers’ graves beyond the city walls. So, yes, what you ask would involve both a keeper as well as a bit of discretion. Both can be arranged...for the right price.” He seemed to consider her for a moment. “Perhaps gold is not what is needed here...a word with your principle, I think should suffice.”

  Her principle? With a shock she realized that Jadis suspected she was a cat’s-paw, hardly surprising in this city of felines. Lysander’s tale had made it clear that Pollux’s dalliance was an embarrassment to the imperial court, which would be happy to see the situation cleanly and quietly resolved. If Jadis presumed she moved at the behest of a power in court she was not about to disabuse him. With luck, he’d be less likely to play her false. She hesitated, her mind working quickly. “Done: a word to the hand that moves me.” She moved herself, after all, so she was not exactly lying.

  He clapped his hands together. “Done! I presume you expect this unfortunate to die soon. After all, so many things can happen to a man in prison.”

  She nodded. “I think he’ll expire in just a few days, assuming you can provide this...substance.”

  He stood, straightening his robe. “Tomorrow evening should be sufficient, I think, but not here.” He crossed to the mirror and checked his reflection. “Red walls sometimes hide prying eyes.”

  He’d certainly read Minette well enough. Duchess had little doubt the cagey madam had ways of learning every secret whispered in the Vermillion. She might be listening even now. “We’ve already given Minette an earful,” Duchess pointed out. “I ca
n’t imagine that anything else we might say would do much harm.”

  “Perhaps no harm to you, my sweet, but I do not share your unvarnished faith in the mistress of the Vermillion.” He ran pudgy fingers through his hair until he was satisfied all was well, then turned from the mirror. “We’ll meet in Bell Plaza at sundown, I think, and there we shall...move to the next stage of our relationship.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that, but had little choice but to agree. It was clear she needed Jadis more than he needed her. “Until then, keeper.” She rose from her chair and moved towards the door, but before she could escape he stopped her with a question.

  “You don’t often speak with keepers, do you my dear?” She turned back warily, wondering if this were another trick. She studied his face for a clue, but that chubby visage might as well have been made of stone.

  “Not often,” she admitted, giving in. She didn’t see the sense of lying. “In fact, this is my first time, and I expect tomorrow night shall be my last.”

  “Oh, not the last,” he said, his green eyes glittering in the lamplight. “No. I think not the last time at all.”

  * * *

  The Bier was crowded, which was fine by Duchess; the more potential witnesses the less likely anyone would start trouble. She was armed, true, but knifeplay in an alehouse would not win Rosamile’s ring from Julius. She bought a mug of ale and sipped it while she scanned the crowd: no ganymedes, lightboys or anyone else she knew, which was uncomfortable but not surprising. She wished Julius conducted his game somewhere like the Merry Widow, where if things went awry she could count on some help. But the Bier was not the Widow, nor would wishing make it so. Bucking up her courage, she made her way to the back room where the dice game was held.

  Lysander had described Julius well enough, and it wasn’t long before Duchess spied him: a short, barrel-chested man, older than she, with a shock of thick black hair over a red face. He was standing near the dicing table, looking over the shoulder of a wiry, ferret-faced man who was running the game. At the moment there were six players, with another dozen or more content to watch the action while they pounded down tankards of ale and mead. She saw that luck was with the house, which was hardly surprising. A bit of fruning had revealed that the game Julius ran was more crooked than a crone’s back. Small wonder Antony had lost his ring. No matter what happened, she’d not be cozened into dicing for Roseamile’s treasure.

  Taking a deep breath she wove her way carefully through the crowd until she reached Julius. She was certain he saw her approach — the only woman in a crowd of men — but he acted as if he were too absorbed in the game to notice. She waited patiently for him to acknowledge her, but when it became clear no such acknowledgment was coming, she said, “It seems that the gods favor you tonight.”

  He feigned unconvincing surprise. “Well, well...it’s the high lady Duchess, come down from on high to mingle with the groundlings.” His surprise was false, but the disdain seemed all too real.

  She floundered for a reply. “I come from the Shallows, same as you.”

  He snorted and turned back to the game. “But unlike you, I don’t live on the Uncle’s penny.” She bit her lip. Hector had warned that her connection with the chief of the Red would bring trouble, and it seemed that trouble had finally arrived. At the time she’d dismissed his warnings as bitter jealousy. She should have taken him more seriously.

  Recovering her poise, she said, “I see my reputation precedes me.”

  “And extends between your ears.”

  “Is that what you’re interested in, then?” she replied with light humor. “What’s between my ears?”

  He gave her a cool glance. “I don’t think you have anything I’m interested in.”

  Part of her longed to respond to his hostility in kind, but then she remembered the Uncle and his wily courtesy. “Don’t be so sure, Julius. Might we go off to have a quiet word?”

  “We can have all the words you like, as long as we have them right here. Step behind the table so you’re not blocking those who actually came here to play.” As she complied, one of the dicers threw two moons, the lowest possible roll, and the entire table groaned. The dicer paled, and then flushed bright red as the dealer swept his coins away.

  “The dice slipped from my hand!” he declared loudly. “Wasn’t no true roll!” Unfazed, the ferret-faced man kept sweeping up the house winnings. “This bastard greased the dice so they’d slip from my hand!” The dicer reached out to protect his coins, and without hesitation Julius made a signal to a beefy gentleman, with a blunt, expressionless face, standing nearby. He moved in and Duchess saw him do something quick and brutal, although she could not have said just what it was. The dicer, however, folded up like a letter, and the large man dragged him away from the table and out of the Bier. There was a round of laughter and some jostling as some of the patrons crowded towards the door for a better look.

  She took a breath and tried to settle her nerves. Julius and his men were clearly no strangers to dealing violently with troublemakers. She’d have to make sure Julius didn’t think her one. “Coin is a hard enough thing for a man to lose,” she said, gesturing to the table as the game resumed. “But to have to part with something more sentimental...”

  He wasn’t slow to take the hint. “So it’s about that oaf Antony, is it?” He shrugged unconcernedly, keeping one eye on the table and another on her. “Luck just wasn’t with him.”

  She shrugged. “It just seems to me that you’d be better off with a few florin than with a ring engraved with a woman’s name. Unless, of course,” she winked, “you have a Rosamile of your own hidden away somewhere?”

  Julius rounded on her, thick black brows contracted into a scowl. “Drop the pretense. You’re not half as clever as you think you are.” He turned back to the game, his face placid again. “That nonsense with Eusbius and his dagger’s already made its way round the hill and back. Maybe you’re content to sniff at the Uncle’s hindquarters,” he went on, as if commenting on the dicer’s technique, “but some of us remember their color. Some us know that the Red need to be reminded of their place.”

  So Julius’ motivations were personal. Worse, he’d painted her the same shade as Antony. If she allowed him to run roughshod over her, within a day everyone along the Highway would hear of it. He’d make certain of that. Still, being seen as an ally of the Uncle must have its advantages. “You’re a bold man, to mention that name in public. Bad things have happened to those that have done less.” She let that sink in, then added more lightly, “But you spoke of colors. You and I are of the same hue, surely we can work out something about this ring?”

  He scoffed. “I finally have Antony by the balls and you want me to just let go?”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to part with the ring for free,” Duchess said, reining in her impatience. “You’re a man of business who works hard and I respect that. I do the same.” She spread her hands. “I can understand why you wouldn’t want to get too entangled with the Red, but what if I offered you the same ten florin that Antony did?”

  Julius looked at her skeptically as the dice clacked across the table. “It was twenty, as I recall. You’ve twenty florin?” He exchanged a glance with the ferret-faced man, then regarded her for a long moment. He smiled and snapped his fingers in her face. “Sure, I’ll take your gold,” he replied lightly, as the dealer reached past Duchess to retrieve the dice. “Assuming you actually have it, that is.”

  She smiled, reaching for her coin purse. “I knew we could come to an arrangement. That’s the way — ” She fell silent as her fingers grasped only empty air. “I just...” she stammered. She rooted through her other pockets, her heart sinking.

  Julius smiled broadly. “Missing something? It’s a tough district, you know, and if a woman’s not careful...well, anything can happen, can’t it?” He clapped the dealer on the shoulder and she felt a cold stab of anger. The man had neatly lifted her purse, she realized belatedly. “Tell you what: you
come back when you’ve found out what happened to your money and we’ll make as sweet a deal as you could want.” Then he made a frown. “But, wait...was that Antony’s money you lost? Goodness. Bad things have happened to those who have done less, haven’t they? I can’t guess what Antony will be like after losing both his ring and his gold.” He turned back to the game, dismissing her.

  She glared at him, her mouth half-open to deliver a retort, but by then the beefy man had returned and was eyeing her ominously. She had seen what happened to the last person to defy Julius at his own game. Feeling angry and humiliated she stepped from behind the table, and Julius’ laughter saw her on her way out of the Bier. Only when she was back on the street did the fear finally settle in. The twenty florin she had accepted from Antony to retrieve the ring was gone, and she had no way of paying it back. Not even the gold she’d gotten from Hector was sufficient to cover it, and she’d have to bake enough bread for the entire imperial army to earn that amount.

  The first time she’d seen Antony in her doorway, she thought she was a dead woman. If she did not find, earn or steal twenty florin — more than she’d ever had in her life — that bit of prescience might prove uncomfortably true.