Revenge

by Fiona McIntosh

  Falcons could not be Quist’s only trade, Tor reasoned, as he sat watching the comings and goings at the brothel. Quist had admitted as much when he had commented how much Cloot alone would fetch. He recalled what Cloot had told him about the trade through Caradoon: he had mentioned slaves. Human treasure must fetch a heady price so perhaps that was Quist’s stock in trade. He had all the arrogance of a successful man. Tor knew he would have to tread carefully.

  As he strolled towards the brothel entrance, he wondered what sort of a man would be accepted more readily. A confident one for sure. Any sign of weakness would be pounced on. He knew he was imposing enough in stature, with looks to turn heads, but that was not sufficient. A handsome man won initial interest, but he needed more than that. As he considered this, pausing on the porch, he remembered something Yargo had said to him once. ‘You are a most mysterious person, Tor.’

  That was it: mystery. Nothing piques a woman’s imagination more than a man who is shrouded. Who had told him this? The most mysterious man he had known in his life so far: Prime Cyrus. Now there was a man whom women fawned over yet they knew so little about him.

  ‘Women are the most curious creatures. The more you hide, the more determined they become to know your secrets. Keep your secrets and you keep the woman.’

  Tor smiled to himself as he recalled the Prime’s words of wisdom. He pushed open the door and stepped into a surprisingly well kept interior. Considering this was reputedly a town of lowlifes, the last bastion of humanity before the Kingdom stretched into a rocky wilderness, their brothel was better cared for than most. A trio of songsters entertained guests with excellent music, men chatted casually to one another at the bar, pretty women plied their trade and there was an air of brisk business being done. It made Tor think of Miss Vylet’s, which was the best run brothel he had ever encountered.

  His welcome at the bar was a little frosty initially. He ordered a sorvino: a cloudy yellow liquor which was expensive but smooth on the way down and the quickest way to warm the insides on a chilly evening. He was not especially partial to it—since living in Tal he had become something of a wine connoisseur, favouring the finest drops from the south—however, his choice was double edged: sorvino was made in the north and its expense marked him as a man of means.

  Only women served, even behind the bar, which was refreshing. After his third nip of the sorvino, he felt the serving woman’s attitude towards him thaw. She even winked as she took his coin. ‘What’s a good-looking stranger like you doing in these parts?’

  ‘Oh, just wandering,’ he said.

  ‘Caradoon is not a place to wander,’ she warned, still smiling.

  ‘I like it here. It makes me feel,’ he looked away as if trying to choose just the right word, ‘anonymous.’

  ‘Oh?’ She arched her eyebrows with amusement. ‘Then you’ve certainly come to the right place.’

  ‘I think so,’ he said, sliding onto a stool with his back to the wall so he could look around.

  ‘And do you have a name? You know we don’t like strangers here.’

  He said the first name which came to mind, ‘Petersyn,’ then raised his glass. ‘To anonymity,’ he said.

  She smiled her acknowledgement and moved on to serve another customer.

  Tor realised the place was quite crowded now that he had the leisure to observe. He guessed there must be a dress requirement. All the men looked decidedly tidy for pirates, thieves, cut-throats, murderers and slavers. Whoever owned this place must run it with a firm hand, he decided. Certainly all the ladies were dressed exceptionally well—just as Miss Vylet’s girls had been.

  A delectable creature strolled up and leaned over him to put some cups down on the bar. The movement showed off her breasts at their best. He grinned inwardly; an old trick but effective, he had to admit.

  ‘Good evening, sir,’ she said politely, ‘forgive me for reaching past you.’

  ‘Nothing to forgive. I enjoyed it.’

  ‘Can I do anything for you, sir?’

  ‘You can fetch me a plate of food…whatever’s going.’

  ‘Everything we cook here is excellent, Mr, er…?’

  ‘Petersyn,’ Tor replied.

  ‘Fish, roasted meat, a superb jugged hare?’ she enquired.

  ‘The fish would be most enjoyable, er…?’

  ‘Celya is my name. If you fancy anything else, please ask for me. I can assure you, Mr Petersyn, I am far more enjoyable than the fish,’ she flirted, before disappearing into the back of the room, where he presumed the kitchens must be.

  Tor took a deep breath. She was lovely and quick-witted. The woman behind the bar came back to offer a top up of his sorvino.

  ‘Who is the proprietor here, may I enquire?’

  ‘Madame Eryna, sir,’ the girl responded and she cast a glance towards a small flight of stairs that led to a landing overlooking the main room.

  Tor followed her gaze and saw a beautiful woman who cut a striking figure in a deep sea-green gown. She stood with poise and surveyed her brothel with a practised eye. Tor marvelled at how like Miss Vylet this woman was; not in looks but certainly in the way she carried herself.

  Her red hair was a shock of colour against pale skin and contrasted magnificently with her green satin gown. She was a beauty all right…and young. Tor could tell her youth even at this distance; she wore heavy make-up—perhaps to make herself appear older—and yet her own loveliness still shone through.

  As if she sensed him watching her, she suddenly turned and fixed a clear gaze on him. She gestured to one of her girls, who made her way up the stairs. They spoke quietly and the girl looked over at Tor and nodded. Madame turned her gaze towards him again and dipped her head in acknowledgement. He raised his glass to her.

  This was obviously the woman he needed to speak with, but how?

  As his meal arrived, so did the girl from the stairs. ‘My apologies to interrupt you, sir,’ she said gently, ‘but Madame Eryna wishes to meet with you this evening.’

  ‘How lovely. I would be delighted,’ Tor said, marvelling at this luck. ‘However, I wish to eat first.’

  ‘But, sir, I’m wondering if we could provide you with a fresh plate after your talk with Madame.’

  ‘And you are…?’ he said, looking directly into her eyes.

  ‘Aymee, sir, at your service.’

  ‘Well, Aymee, I am hungry for food rather than conversation at this moment. If Madame Eryna wishes to meet with me, it will be my pleasure after I have taken my supper. Now, if you’ll excuse me,’ he said, beginning to eat. Raising a hope for Cyrus’s creed, he counted on his attitude intriguing the madam, even if it also irritated her.

  The girl was flummoxed. She stammered another apology and departed. He felt sorry for her and hoped the proprietor would not take her annoyance out on her. If he got the information he needed, then he would buy Aymee for the night. At the very least, it meant she would sleep in a comfortable bed. When he looked back at the landing, the statuesque figure was no longer there. He hoped he had not missed his chance.

  Finishing his fish, which was, as Celya had promised, delicious, he settled back with a mug of ale, this time to await Madame Eryna. Several women approached him during the course of the evening which stretched into night. He turned down their advances, always politely, always offering them a drink and always hoping for some titbit of information which might lead him to Janus Quist. He achieved nothing and one girl even became suspicious and left without finishing her drink. Things were not going at all well and just as he began to curse his luck, Aymee reappeared.

  ‘Madame Eryna asks whether you are ready now to share a glass with her, Master Petersyn.’

  ‘I have been ready for hours, Aymee. Thank you. And perhaps later we can share some time?’ he offered.

  She just smiled and gestured for him to follow. He was taken to a suite where a merry fire burned in the grate and the furniture was expensive, soft and inviting. He marvelled at a pair of superb tapestri
es which adorned the walls, their richness of colour and quality of work testifying that they had been crafted by the finest Ildagarthian artisans. This was not the chamber of a madam of a backwater brothel; this room belonged to someone with excellent taste and the experience of city life. Tor knew he was going to enjoy learning more about this woman. He made himself comfortable in an armchair and took the liberty of pouring himself a glass of wine from the exquisite carafe which sat on a table next to it.

  Madame was not long in arriving, entering through a back door to the chamber. She took him by surprise. ‘Torkyn Gynt, how dare you make me wait!’

  Tor nearly spilled the wine on his breeches as he jumped to his feet and circled around to clap eyes on a familiar face. Gone was the heavy make-up and crimson lips, the velvet gown had been cast away in favour of a soft and shimmery shift and her hair was no longer red and curly. It hung straight, dark and thick to her shoulders.

  ‘Well, say something,’ she said, hugely amused.

  ‘Eryn!’

  She clapped her hands. ‘One and the same.’

  ‘Your…your hair,’ he said, feeling quite the fool.

  ‘A wig. I have many of them.’ She laughed, full throated, and walked across the room to take his hands. ‘No kiss for an old friend?’

  Tor could not stop staring. It was Eryn. A few years older, yes, but still that sparkling, lovely girl he could have fallen in love with if not for Alyssa.

  He laughed out loud with her. ‘What in Light’s name are you doing in this town?’

  ‘I own this brothel, Tor. You should be proud of me,’ she said, sounding a little disappointed, and moved to pour herself a glass of wine.

  He snatched her hand back. ‘No, wait! You are utterly breathtaking and I am so proud of you I’m almost speechless.’

  She beamed then, that familiar giggle surfacing. He bent and kissed her cheek. They looked long at each other and he kissed her again, properly this time.

  ‘I always hoped I’d taste your lips again, Tor.’

  He hugged her hard. ‘I want to know everything,’ he pronounced, pulling her to a sofa. ‘Sit here and tell me of your life.’

  ‘Tor, I will tell you but first I have to know something.’ She hesitated.

  ‘Ask,’ he said, still grinning from the discovery of his old friend.

  ‘Why are you here and asking questions about Janus Quist?’

  His grin faded. So word had spread quickly.

  ‘Because I have an interest to meet him.’

  ‘How do you know of him?’ she said, sitting down opposite in the armchair.

  This was tricky. He could not tell the full truth. Who would believe that the last time he was at Caradoon he had been in the body of a falcon?

  ‘A friend of mine met him once and told me of him.’

  ‘I see. And your friend’s name is?’

  ‘Saxon. Saxon Fox.’

  ‘I don’t know him, Tor.’

  ‘Nor would you, Eryn. He is a Kloek. What is your interest in Quist?’

  ‘Well, he’s a regular. He’s also a local.’

  ‘Do you trust him more than me?’

  She sipped her wine. ‘I did not say that. But I know Janus Quist. He does not like strangers…he likes them even less if they nose around in his business.’

  Tor looked her directly in the eyes and sensed she was choosing her words with great care. It puzzled him.

  ‘All right, Eryn. Would it make any difference to you if I told you that he has stolen something which belongs to me?’

  At this she laughed. ‘But, Tor, that’s his profession. He is a pirate. He thieves and trades.’

  Tor was serious now. ‘That may be, but he took something which is exceptionally precious to me, something which I want returned.’

  ‘If you have not met Quist, Tor, how could you know it was he who took this special item of yours?’ she said, twirling her glass and not looking at him.

  ‘Saxon was looking after it at the time. The pirate clubbed him over the head and stole what was mine.’

  Eryn looked very uncomfortable, he decided; gorgeous but uncomfortable. She pretended to sip again at her wine.

  ‘Could I replace this item for you? Would that help?’

  Tor put his glass down and spoke softly. ‘It is irreplaceable.’

  ‘But, Tor,’ she said, sitting forward so she was almost touching him, ‘Janus would have sold whatever it is. He never hangs on to stolen goods for more than a day.’

  ‘Which is why I am in a hurry to see him…Eryn, what is your interest in this man? How do you know so much about him?’

  There was an awkward silence between them. She met his eyes steadily though. ‘He is my husband.’

  Tor had not expected this, but before he could say anything, she held up her hand to hush him.

  ‘Let me tell you about my life after you left Hatten, Tor, and you’ll understand.’

  She poured him a second glass of finest southern wine and encouraged him to sit back and listen. Tor learned how she had felt unsettled after he had left, how she had been angry with him for not saying goodbye or telling her why he was leaving.

  ‘Eryn, you were the one who forbade any love…it was just friends, remember?’

  ‘I do,’ she replied and he thought he heard wistfulness in her voice. Nevertheless, she had felt empty after his departure. She had continued to work at Miss Vylet’s but when the old girl died suddenly, life changed for the worse. A wealthy couple took over the business; he ran the front of house badly and she ran the brothel nastily. The girls hated her and the custom dropped away.

  Tor felt saddened to hear of Miss Vylet. She was a good woman and a valuable sentient. ‘What of your brothers, Eryn?’

  ‘Ah, here’s the meat to my tale. Petyr, as you may have guessed, was an unhappy young man. I was the eldest, so my word counted, but Petyr struggled with this, being a man. He was not much of a man really, though; he was more like a younger sister, I often thought. He knew it and that just made things worse.’

  Tor nodded. Eryn told him of the day when Petyr was badly beaten by a sailor. The sailor escaped to his ship but left Petyr with a broken body. ‘And a rearranged face to boot,’ she added sadly. ‘He took his fun with Petyr, bashed him up and left him bleeding in an alleyway. I’ll never forget his name: Nord Jesper. One day I will find him and I will kill him.’

  Tor learned that Petyr had not been able to cope with losing his looks and had fled Hatten.

  ‘He was always an unhappy person; sullen and insecure. It was a great shame, for he used to be a sunny child until our mother died.’ Eryn shrugged and continued. ‘I went in search of him. I hated my life at the brothel but I loved my brothers; they were all I had. So I decided I’d track him down and we would build a life somewhere else. I even thought of trying to find you in Tal. I had heard you were very popular at the royal court.’

  At this they both shared a smile of regret.

  ‘It took me three moons but I finally found him in Caradoon. I was just a few hours too late. He was dead.’

  Her voice broke and Tor pulled her towards him. She nestled up against him, wiped her tears and finished her tale.

  ‘He died from the stracca. He was not a strong person and the witch Xantia kept encouraging him to take more.’

  ‘Xantia? Black hair? Beautiful?’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t call her that, Tor. How do you know her?’

  ‘Oh, we met at Ildagarth. We have a score to settle.’

  ‘You and a hundred others.’ Eryn sounded bitter.

  ‘Tell me the rest,’ he said. He would come back to Xantia.

  ‘There was nothing I could do. His body was already stiff with death. I was distraught. I had no money, a young brother to care for, another to bury and nowhere to live. So I turned back to the only trade I knew. That’s how I met Janus. He was my first client. I could hardly bear him to touch me with that one-eyed face. He knew this and, rather than forcing himself, spent his paid hour with
me in talking. Other than you, I can’t imagine any other man doing such a thing on paid time.’ She smiled to herself. ‘And then he came back the next night for another hour, to talk again. You know, he did that four nights in a row. I did all the talking though. He just listened. I think at first he took pity on me, but somewhere during that time he fell in love.’

  ‘And you with him?’ Tor asked.

  ‘I don’t love him as I once loved you, Tor.’ She saw his surprise. ‘Yes, I broke my own rule. It was never like that with him. But I loved Janus then for his gentleness, and I love him dearly now for his kindness towards me and his goodness. Tor, if you knew him as I do, you would understand what a just man he is. Yes, he thieves, he’s very good at it, but do you know he gives away large portions of his money to help people? He cares for a family just west of here, who lost their crops and animals to fire and then the husband died leaving six children. Janus provides for them all. And that’s just one example. I could give you a whole list of people who survive because of him, including everyone here.’

  Tor stroked her hair. ‘Do you mind that he slave trades, Eryn?’

  She shot him an angry look. ‘Janus Quist is the only one of the mainland pirates who would never succumb to slave trading. The only one with any scruples.’

  So he had guessed wrong. ‘I’m not sure what to say.’

  She waved her hand. ‘Oh, you were not to know any of this. He stole something from you and you want it back. I can understand this, but I would not be living such a good life, Tor, if it wasn’t for his benevolence.’

  ‘So you own this place?’

  ‘All of it. Janus bought it off the original owner and gave it to me.’ She laughed out loud. ‘You should have seen the girls’ faces when they found out who the new madam was to be. But I learned a lot at Miss Vylet’s, especially about how to look after the people who make the business successful. All my girls eat well, dress well, live securely and many have families whom I ensure they spend time with. I pay them well and they make excellent business for me in return. I really love my life here, Tor.’