“I apologize, Miss Baxter.”
To seven hells with your apology! Simon thought. Say what you will then go away.
Instead, the distressed gunslinger took her by the arm, settling down on one knee. “I must simply insist you take my pavilion! The gentleman in me must ensure that you are comfortable and safe inside.” She had begun to reply when he interrupted. “I will, of course, stay out here with the other two gentlemen. No young lady should have to subject herself to the company of men. I just hope you will accept my sincerest regret at not offering sooner.”
Simon felt his heart sink despite his moral approval of Mr. Dashing’s request. It was an odd feeling.
Miss Baxter sighed with a chuckle. “I don’t really—” she began, then closing her eyes she nodded. “Very well. I know that a refusal will only generate a prolonged debate, something I’m sure neither of these two gentlemen would care to listen to.” She stood up, pushing the woolen blanket aside as she made her way to the tent.
“Thank you anyway, Mr. Todd,” she said, moving away. Simon felt arguably more than a little disappointed at the outcome, but thought it was ultimately for the best despite his own inclinations. Before he could utter a word to her however, Mr. Dashing had thrown his backside into the space beside him.
“Well, I feel much better now,” Dick said, offering up a grin. Then, pulling at the very same woolen blanket he turned on his elbow and buried himself beneath it. “Have a good night then. Mr. Todd, Mr. Darcy.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Dashing.” Jane muttered from somewhere in the darkness.
Simon made a face, his lip curling as he begrudgingly lay down beside the man. Though it was a rather balmy evening and Simon Todd was certainly dead, he didn’t sleep a wink. Instead he was constantly worried that he may accidently roll over and touch the soiled underclothes of good old Mr. Dashing.
To top it off, the next day it rained.
Chapter 4
A Bancha Bawdy Brothels
Piper’s Toss on the best of days was a polluted broth of brown smog, grisly buildings and taupe puddles settling betwixt the slanted cobbled streets and cracked, brick architecture. In the rain, dark clouds seemed to add a splash of gray into the mix, making it look like an old photograph. For Mr. Todd, it looked absolutely dismal, for Jane Darcy who observed the world through his red tinged spectacles it looked much akin to any other.
Piper’s Toss was larger than Darlington by three quarters of the population. Though the original structure of the city was composed of large, sturdy buildings made of stone and mortar, tiny adobe’s popped up around the inner construction like extra finger bones on a person’s hand. Some were piled high into the air, set on foundations of wood and looking rather rickety. Others were more solid towers with tiled roofs and wooden balconies. Staircases bound them all together, though made the entirety of the town look rather jumbled. To Simon, Piper’s Toss was much like an optical illusion given form. Whichever way you looked at it, it always looked a bit upside down.
The only thing that served to indicate the center of the town was the very large clock tower. It stuck out like a sore thumb, and even if you couldn’t see it from the ground, you could always hear it chime out the time on the hour. It was the highest part in the town, with a domed roof that didn’t at all match the pointed rooftops of the other buildings and a garishly decorated clock face. Painted like a jester’s mask, the clock was meant to embody the old Piper himself. Mr. Todd had never actually been inside the building, but had heard the clock chuckle once, which it did only at midnight. It had given him a dreadful start, if he recalled. All other times the clock merely donged like a proper timepiece. When he heard it giggle out the midnight hour, he had been three sheets to the wind and thought some vagabond was at his back laughing manically. He remembered running away, tripping over a loose stone and bruising his jaw.
No. Simon Todd did not like Piper’s Toss one bit.
But he did come enough times to say otherwise. Which was partly what he was worried about. Some people knew his name here. Not everyone, but a few, and he and his party of treasure hunters were all arriving just before evening, which was when these certain someones were just coming out to sell their wares. It wouldn’t do if Simon was caught by one of them. Not in front of Miss Baxter, or Mr. Dashing, who would most surely go on about it throughout the rest of their journey. So, as the party made their way through the main road, littered with wagons and horses and horse dung, Simon clung to his companions, hoping wildly that amidst them all, nobody would notice the sorry looking, young gentleman.
“We should probably head for an inn, wouldn’t you think?” Mr. Darcy was wearing an oiled cloak, meant to block the rain. It was a rather handsome looking piece, with a chain and brass buttons adorning the front. Miss Baxter had on a black mantel with hood. Dick had pulled his hat down and looked rather wet. Simon was glad to have packed his umbrella.
“I thought we were looking for horses?” Mr. Todd said, fearing an inn and all its patrons.
Mr. Darcy looked back at him though the lenses of his red spectacles. One side was hooked at the end, but otherwise the glasses looked quite plain. “We can find more information if we talk to the locals, Mr. Todd. Besides, an inn will have wayfarers who may be willing to part with their mounts.” Jane smiled as Mr. Dashing agreed. They all pressed onward.
Though the majority of Piper’s Toss’ denizens lived in the ramshackle buildings built off the sturdier stone structures, the businesses cluttered the roads. At the forefront of the town there were taverns and bars, inns and stable houses, while the deeper you went, the seedier the establishments became. Magic stores, some genuine, some simple trick shops, dice houses, market places full of questionable wares, it all coalesced into the deviant majesty that was the allure of the entire town. Of course, there were groceries and woodworkers and cobblers as well as all the normal, customary things a town had in order to maintain itself, but they were seemingly transparent beside such institutions as The Thirsty Bush and The Harlot’s Pouch, both of which were amongst the variety of the town’s main supply of income.
And both of which Simon was quite familiar with.
“Here?” he exclaimed, looking up at the sodden, semi-mouldering sign. The Thirsty Bush proclaimed itself without any written script. Instead it opted to say its name with an ornate, gilded sign constructed into the likeliness of a shrub, found quite commonly in the Great Plains. It was a cunning sign, if you found clever vulgarity pleasing, for in the center of it was a strategically placed wine glass that excited the imagination of passerbys.
“We can’t go here!” Simon asserted, looking at Mr. Dashing with a hint of worry in his eyes. “This isn’t a place for a young lady.”
Dick turned, his sopping boots squelching as he did so. “Well, good thing you’re wearing trousers then, Mr. Todd! No one will have an inkling as to your true identity.” He laughed, Simon frowned.
“Not me, you ragamuffin! “He stepped in closer, eyeing Miss Baxter with rueful apology as his umbrella swept the two gentlemen into a moment of privacy. “This is a brothel. We can’t bring Miss Baxter here,” he whispered. “We need to find another place.”
Dick Dashing nodded a moment. His thick moustache was pressed wetly against his cheeks. After a moment he turned, as though considering the many other businesses around the area and where else they could go.
After another few seconds he laughed. “Everywhere in Piper’s Toss is a brothel of some sort. Or a dice house. At least this one advertises, Mr. Todd.” Mr. Dashing stood up straight, removing himself from the small privacy Simon’s umbrella afforded. “One that doesn’t would be less safe, I’m afraid.” Dick looked towards Mr. Darcy then to a polite Miss Baxter standing patiently in the rain. “She’s obviously not a working girl—”
“I never said she was!” Simon was mortified.
“—so she should be fine. Keep your bodice tied and no one will harass you.” Dashing winked, Miss Baxter shook her head.
&nb
sp; Simon felt offended on her behalf, but was seemingly the only one.
“And if they do,” Darcy pulled out his gun, “I’ll fill them full of fire.” At least it was a boast he could have fulfilled, though whether the rapscallion had it in him was left to be seen, Simon thought. The pistol was a brass color, ornate with intricate clockwork designs. In truth, he had two, one on each hip, but the one he held was his pride and joy, with several glowing runes set into the grip that matched the ones on his goggles. There was a little switch as well and all sorts of delicate parts Simon didn’t know for what, but were probably quite important.
“I don’t think there will be any need for that,” the young lady replied with a smile. Mr. Dashing chuckled. It seemed the two were making good humour out of Mr. Todd’s genuine concern. Simon felt insulted. Jane was bored.
“Well then let’s spare us a few more moments of rain and go inside. If Mr. Todd’s opinion of Miss Baxter’s correct, she’ll surely be melting soon enough,” Darcy said, getting rather frustrated at the condensation settling on his glasses. The compulsion to remove them was compelling, but Mr. Darcy hated seeing the world with human eyes. It was all too dizzying and colorful. In dragon form, his eyes were perfect rubies and he enjoyed the endless variety of crimson they proffered. To him, possessing gold was akin to owning the entire universe of stars and suns. The spectacles helped retain some of that comfort.
But the rain was dampening his mood and the glass, and so he was happy when he finally stepped inside and away from it all.
Simon, on the other hand, was nervous, and hoped profusely that neither Sally nor Molly Stein were working this evening.
“Welcome to the Thirsty Bush, where we expertly polish both glasses and gears!”
Simon hid his face, immediately appalled. Gino De Vaunt, the main proprietor of the Bush, had beads in his much more embellished handlebar moustache and billowy sleeves on each outstretched, bronzed arm. “Tonight’s bloomers night, so ‘ave a drink, and grab a mate.” As he spoke, one lady in a beige corset and rather lacy undergarments walked by. Gino’s satin emerald pantaloons ballooned above dark vertically striped hose, and his hair was slicked back like the ridges on a scallop shell. Beside the working girl he looked like the Piper himself. “And ‘ave a bloomin’ good time, lads,” he continued, elbowing Mr. Dashing who had since put his pistol away.
When he saw Miss Baxter, Gino smiled, giving her a good head to toe look with his darkly shimmering blue eyes. Simon was ready to say something curt if the proprietor sought to make any kind of suggestion, but if the man had thought to do so he kept it tucked away in his mind.
“We just wish for a room and maybe some supper,” Mr. Darcy explained, finally free from the water stains on his spectacles. The brothel/inn was spacious with an inner receiving area sequestered from the main entertaining space. Though it was easy to see inside where the majority of the girls wandered, the front foyer was mostly unfrequented by the fleshy wares of the Thirsty Bush. To the right of the small receiving chamber a large staircase where rooms were accessed hovered in the darkness like a dead and forgotten limb on a thriving tree.
Gino De Vaunt, who had still failed to recognize Simon Todd, smiled, his thick chestnut eyebrows raising wrinkles on his brow. “I ’ave a plethora of rooms. Themed and un-themed, rich in carpets, harem style or large cushy beds big enough for,” he paused, his eyes scanning the party, “four.”
“I think four separate rooms would be best, one for each,” Mr. Darcy explained. Gino seemed intrigued by the fact that the young lady would be staying by herself. His eyes settled on her for the moment.
“Four rooms it is, then.” The decorated proprietor slapped his hands together. “Supper is served in the courtyard, as we call it.” He gestured to the outer chamber where all the women were congregated. Simon could hear laughter and the clink of glass from beyond. A vision of Molly Stein formed in his brain, struggling into the too tight bodice of the dress he had bought the day before seeing her. “I’ll ’ave one of the women set the rooms up for you in the meantime, if you want to take your meal there.”
“That’s fine, thank you.” Miss Baxter, quiet and pretty like the wallpaper in Mr. Todd’s living room, took a step forward, inclining her head to the moustachioed innkeeper. She was still quite wet from the rain outside. “I have an ass as well,” she said. Gino De Vaunt grinned “Do you have anywhere I could house him for the night?”
Gino scratched his chin. Simon Todd didn’t like the way he looked at Miss Baxter one bit. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes seemed to deepen as he paused to reply.
“I’ll ’ave one of the servants take ’im somewhere. It’ll cost you a few pennies extra though, for food and the like.” The young lady smiled again.
“He’s dead. He doesn’t eat much.”
They had that in common it seemed, Simon thought.
Gino blinked, and then nodded. “We’ll take care of him, Miss. Here! Bonnie!” he called to the woman beside him. She was in nothing but her knickers. “Remove their outerwear! They’re sopping wet.”
Bonnie snickered. Simon inwardly recoiled.
When their jackets were off, the four of them were led past the foyer into what was deemed the ‘courtyard.’ It was composed of a rather large space of polished, wooden flooring and dusty wallpaper stained with a good several years’ worth of cigar smoke. Some parts of the large chamber were sectioned off by velvet curtains so private parties could be held within. Other corners were decorated with chairs and tables made elegant with lace table clothes and doilies, while some parts of the room were filled with couches and pillows and floor tables for cards and poker. To Simon, it looked like a thieves’ hideaway, or some kind of delinquent smoke den. But it was dark, and the women that clung to the area like ornaments were, as promised, all in their bloomers.
“My kind of place.” Mr. Dashing chuckled, removing his hat. The peacock feather that adorned it looked quite impotent from the weather. As the gunslinger was having a good look at the Bush, Simon was hastily scanning the same area for any girls he recognized.
Seven hells! He cursed, seeing Molly at the large serving counter. Her skin was on complete display in a white brassiere and lacy undergarments. Around her shoulders was a white fox pelt decorated with pearlescent beading, and atop her darkly bronzed locks was a gentleman’s top hat made girlish by a half wilted, pink poinsettia. Her sister Sally, of whom Simon was also familiar, was nowhere to be seen.
“Ah,” Simon was hesitant to remove his hat while inside, but did so slowly, letting it cover his face as they sat down at one of the tables. “You know I don’t… I am supposed to be working while on holiday. I don’t know if it would be prudent for me to be seen in such an establishment.”
To this, Mr. Dashing only laughed. “Nonsense! Mr. Hershal has business all around Piper’s Toss. I’m certain that old codger has had a sniff of drink or two in one of these alehouses before.” Dick turned, removing his blunderbuss from the holster on his back. It was still covered in the oil cloth as he set it against the near wall. “Besides, I’ve heard his daughter often makes rounds here. She’s a regular dice roller that one. Though it seems lady luck prefers the laps of men.” Dashing laughed as he sat back in the plushy red arm chair, picking a seat close to the wall and that had a good view of all the ladies in the room. Simon was much obliged to allow him to it. He himself chose one that faced away.
“I’m sure that’s only rumour,” he said, though he was certain in fact that it wasn’t. Simon knew first hand that Fae Hershal had a liking for dice. He also knew how much debt the young girl could get herself into. Turned out it was a lot more than anyone thought it was.
“Maybe,” Dick agreed, eyeing the swollen hips of a daring brunette. “But with a daughter like that, I think you’ll be safe from scandal for the time being. No one’s going to doubt the good old Mr. Todd now are they?”
Simon didn’t like the innuendo in his tone, though he may have been simply imagining it. With Molly
behind him he was feeling rather exposed. The fact was that Mr. Todd didn’t hire prostitutes because he was some sex addled deviant. It was rather the case that he was wholly embarrassed to express his feelings in most manners.
That he enjoyed Miss Baxter’s presence, there was no question. But he felt she was so innocent, so pure and kind, that telling her he so felt the way he did would give her no other choice but to oblige him. Out of anything in the world, Mr. Todd did not want to be granted her affections out of kindness, but rather given them in an earnest reciprocation of emotion and tenderness.
But she was so naïve, at least in the mind of Mr. Todd, that expecting her to divulge her love of him was simply something that seemed like hopeless desire. So, in a case that was certainly wretched, Simon loved her from afar, and sometimes closely from across the field, and sought companionship from the ladies of Piper’s Toss when he felt utterly desperate.
Molly Stein and her younger sister Sally were acquaintances of Simon’s romantic distress.
“Bleed the pig, it’s Simon Todd!”
They were just settling down to order drinks when he heard the voice. It was an accent she shared with her late mother and fellow to the Frelanders closer to the Helvallyn hills, made obvious by their over-enunciation of vowels. Simon chewed his inner lip, fingers gripping the mahogany armrests of the chair until, curiously, they disappeared through the wood.
“What are you doing back here?” Fae Hershal clapped him on the back like an old chum as Mr. Todd worried over his ghostly disposition. No one else seemed to notice, but for a moment, it was as though the chair’s physical form had ceased to exist beneath him.
“Uh.” Blinking back his marvel to once again focus on the threat at hand, Simon looked up, quite aware of the curious expressions currently occupying the faces around him. “I was, I mean, I have to do some book work for your father, Miss Hershal.”
The Curious Case of Simon Todd Page 5