by CS Sealey
“Nothing in the bag,” one said, throwing it to the ground. “Not even a single lousy pfenn, the little beggar!”
“Try her,” another said.
Angora felt hands patting and groping down her sides and kicked out in the hope of hitting one of the men. There was a bout of laughter followed by angered grunts and muttering as the men discovered nothing of worth on her person.
“What a bloody waste of time!” one of the men grumbled.
“Oh, not quite,” another said. “She’d fetch a pretty price with the right people. Bind her! We’re going to the city.”
CHAPTER 8
When the trumpet sounded, heralding the beginning of the march from the lowest gate to the square, Captain Rasmus Auran mounted his brown stallion and ordered his men into formation. The long funeral procession had been waiting for the arrival of the official party, who had made the long and solemn walk through the streets to the lower city of Te’Roek. From where he sat astride his horse, Rasmus could see the small group escorting the cart that bore the coffin: the newly anointed Queen Sorcha, Chief Adviser Lord Markus Taal, Master Emil Latrett, Lady Kayte Heron, Lady Aiyla Moorey and his own brother, Tiderius. Finally, Mayor Challan and General Kaster joined the procession, as well as the heads of several prominent noble families.
Representatives from all the divisions of the army stood ready in front and behind Rasmus, sharing the same look of suppressed grief. As he and his men began to walk, people watching the street from windows or rooftops scattered petals onto the heads of those in the procession. He recognized a few faces and nodded at them, receiving half-hearted waves in return. He could hear haunting melodies drifting out from a few open doorways as he passed; some people were singing, many were crying, but the most prominent sound of all was a mournful, resonating note: the horn that all Ronnesians loved to hear. The Victory Horn some called it, but others called it the Horn of the Empire. At every battle, the horn had sounded, reminding soldiers who they were fighting for and lifting their spirits from the depression of war. Rasmus bowed his head, for he had fought many battles and sought the comfort that only the horn could bring.
They reached the middle city of Te’Roek. He looked over to Berri Tavern’s open doorway and, for the first time in his memory, heard no music from within. A mug would be waiting for him, he knew, as soon as he was dismissed from the march. There, he would drown his sorrow with many other men and women.
The procession filed into the middle city square and the coffin was lifted onto a wooden dais. Queen Sorcha and her advisers stood behind it on the platform and the entire city fell into an uneasy silence. The mayor stepped forward and addressed the crowd, raising his hands.
“Citizens of Te’Roek and distinguished guests from foreign lands, we are gathered here today to pay our respects to a much loved queen, who sadly joined her ancestors two days ago.
“Queen Zennia’s death was sudden and unexpected. She gave us many years of prosperity and both political and military victories. Her strong will and good judgment brought this empire and this city decades of strong harvests and good fortune. Words cannot express the love she earned from her people, nor the pain her passing has caused; it would certainly warm her heart to see so many of you here. She will be sorely missed.”
The ceremony lasted almost three hours and, by the time the military had been dismissed, the sun had dipped below the horizon. While many trudged off to their homes or the city barracks, Rasmus, Cassios and cavalry captain Elroy Mattian converged on Berri Tavern. They ordered two ales each from the barkeep and sank into their usual chairs before the crackling fire. For a long while, they remained silent, each absorbed in their own thoughts.
At least two dozen messengers were riding hard across the length and breadth of the Ronnesian Empire, delivering the news of the queen’s death to the cities, towns and villages. Rasmus’s eyes lingered on the flickering flames and he wondered whether the empire would ever be the same again. It was no secret that Queen Sorcha was not as confident in her new position as her mother had been when she came to the throne. In a strange coincidence, it had been only a matter of weeks since King Corhillar of the Ayons had finally died and left his young son, Samian Mensor, with the responsibility of ruling the northern empire. For the first time, both empires would be in a state of mourning, with a new monarch on the throne. Perhaps a truce would be called in the wake of this sad time in honor of both former rulers.
The hours drew on and more patrons filled the tavern, but the atmosphere remained solemn. Due to the slow business and in honor of Queen Zennia, the barkeep informed his customers that he would be closing early, and the three soldiers ordered one more ale each to see them through.
“I suppose Tora is still angry at me,” Elroy said, draining his mug.
“I don’t think the death of the queen would have changed anything, no,” Cassios said. “You did run the moment she mentioned children.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do? I can barely support myself, let alone a wife and children. Besides, she has enough suitors out there. I was just a fleeting fancy.”
“And a certain blond beauty has nothing to do with it?” Rasmus asked, nodding at the stage where the tavern singer was singing yet another haunting ballad with her guitarist.
Elroy glanced at the stage and involuntarily smiled.
“Oh, not again!” Cassios laughed.
“Will you ever settle for just one woman?” Rasmus asked.
“I don’t see why I should. They’re the best things in life, and it would be a waste if I didn’t sample them before buying a ball and chain.”
“But at this rate, I won’t find one you haven’t already sampled!” Rasmus laughed. “Besides, you’ve already ruined a marriage.”
“What? Oh, Bells never wanted to be with that old rat anyway. I just helped give her a push out the door.”
“You mean he pushed her out the door.”
“You’re just jealous,” Elroy said. “If you wait around for the perfect woman, Rasmus, you might stumble across her, perhaps, maybe…I’m actively searching for mine. It’s definitely more enjoyable.”
One by one, the patrons about them dispersed and the tavern singer performed her last song. Cassios was the first of the trio to rise. Draining his ale and bidding them goodnight, he sauntered out onto the street. It was not yet midnight but the barkeep and his workers began to tidy up the bar, and Rasmus and Elroy took this as the sign to leave.
“I’m not even drunk,” Elroy grumbled when the two were out on the main street.
“Don’t suppose many other places would still be open. Launster’s closes before Berri, so there’s no point going there.”
“Well, there’s always the Gifted Rose.”
“The Gifted R – You want to go to a brothel?”
“Not for the women,” Elroy assured him. “Their ale is available right through till dawn.”
Rasmus could not suppress a smile. “Whatever you say.”
Situated in the market district, the Gifted Rose was the largest brothel in Te’Roek. It offered women from across the empire and beyond. There was a large lounge on the ground floor of the three-story building where patrons could either enjoy a free stage performance from a selection of the Rose’s girls or calm their nerves before enquiring about the pleasures that lay in store on the two floors above.
For Tiderius’s sixteenth birthday, Rasmus had brought him here to be educated. Tiderius had been somewhat anxious and doubtful as the beautiful painted woman had led him upstairs, but Rasmus had chided him and pushed him on his way. An hour later, Tiderius had descended the stairs with disheveled hair and a large bruise on his neck. Ever since, he had been hungry for the attention of women.
“What can I get for you today, sirs?” the proprietress asked when Rasmus and Elroy stepped into the lavishly decorated lobby. “We have women, girls – men and boys too, if you wish. Unfortunately, our Western Wonder is unavailable tonight, but we can offer an adventurous replaceme
nt.”
“Just a drink for now, thanks,” Elroy said, nodding at the bar. “But is Helena in today?”
“She is, yes,” the woman said. “Would you like to reserve her?”
Before Elroy could answer, however, the sounds of a muffled commotion came from a side room. As they watched, one of the Rose’s burly guards emerged, dragging a girl behind him. She was thin and dirty and putting up quite a fight. “Let me go!” she cried.
“Take her back upstairs,” the proprietress said to the guard, sounding weary, “and make sure she’s watched.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The guard grasped the girl around the middle, lifted her up easily and then climbed the stairs. The girl kicked and screamed all the way to the third floor before a door banged shut loudly behind them.
Rasmus’s skin crawled and he glanced worriedly at the proprietress. The woman raised her eyes to the ceiling and sighed.
“New cleaning girl,” she explained. “She’s finding it hard to settle in. No skill at all in seduction and very little in cleaning! I don’t know what we’re going to do with her.”
The two soldiers exchanged a glance.
“Right,” Elroy said dismissively. “Now, about Helena…If she’s available in about an hour?”
“Yes, of course. Just one or both of you?”
“Oh, definitely just him,” Rasmus said quickly.
“Then make yourselves comfortable in the lounge, sirs.”
“Much obliged,” Elroy said, grinning.
Rasmus glanced at him and shook his head. “So we came here just for ale, did we?”
Elroy chuckled. “All right, I confess. Helena is a bloody wonder! Fiery red hair, blue eyes…Just a few minutes with her, Rasmus, and you’ll – ”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
“You wouldn’t be so squeamish if you knew her as well as I do.”
They sat down at the bar and ordered a firewater each. The barkeep nodded wordlessly and fetched their drinks, his eyes wandering every so often to the two women dancing opposite. A band stood beside the stage: two guitars, a small drum and some kind of pipe instrument playing lively music. Rasmus glanced their way but turned back a moment later when one of the women flung off the shawl she had draped about her shoulders to reveal her breasts.
Rasmus accepted his firewater with a grunt of thanks and returned to his thoughts while Elroy watched the performance in silence. There were certainly more patrons in the Gifted Rose than there had been in the Berri and they all seemed to be in better spirits. He downed his drink in one go, feeling the liquid sliding down his throat with the burning sensation that had earned the drink its name. Just as he placed the small glass on the bar, he heard a scream. His eyes immediately turned toward the lobby, where he saw the proprietress glancing at the ceiling with a look of unease on her heavily made-up face.
A second later, there was another, louder scream and the whole building shook slightly. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling tinkled and hot wax dripped onto the heads of the patrons beneath. All the tables in the lounge trembled, sending glasses and mugs skittering across the surface. Patrons leaped to their feet and looked worriedly around. The band paused, and even the dancing women stopped twirling. In the uneasy silence that followed the first tremor, there was yet another scream and the building shuddered violently once more.
“Didn’t think Te’Roek ever got earthquakes,” Rasmus heard a man nearby mutter. Then a sudden tremendous crash drowned out the anxious murmuring of the patrons. Candelabra toppled and fell from tables, spreading fire across the silken tablecloths.
Chaos reigned. Shouting, patrons either headed for the door or the bar, demanding water to battle the blaze. Out in the lobby, half-dressed men were being ushered down the stairs and out onto the street. Courtesans hurried from room to room, screaming and calling to each other. From what they shouted, Rasmus deduced that there was a fire upstairs too and that it was quickly spreading.
“Some of you go and help the stragglers!” the proprietress was saying to her male staff members. “The fire has taken the entire top floor and we have four as yet unaccounted for, including the master. Just hurry! Oh, where are the women with the water?”
The men rushed up the stairs and, instinctively, Rasmus followed them. The second floor was only slightly veiled in smoke but Rasmus could see the flickering of flames as he looked up to the next landing. Pushing past the men, Rasmus continued up, raising an arm to his nose to shield himself from the smoke, which was much thicker on the uppermost floor. It was immediately obvious from which room the fire was spreading. Rasmus stumbled toward it with the intention of closing the door to slow the blaze, but paused in the doorway.
Two bodies were lying on the large rug within – an obese man, who had his trousers loose around his ankles, and the cleaning girl. He darted forward and searched for their pulses. The man’s neck was so lined with fat that Rasmus had to try his wrist as well to be sure, but the man was definitely dead. He moved over to the girl, his eyes beginning to sting. The fire was spreading along the walls rapidly, he did not have long. Rasmus moved her long, dark hair away from her neck and felt for a pulse. But the moment he touched her skin, he felt a shock rip up his arm that made him dart back, shaking his hand frantically. It hurt. Again, he tried to test her pulse but another shock shot up his arm.
There was a great crash as the bed standing in the middle of the room collapsed through the floor. Avoiding her skin, Rasmus grasped the girl’s sleeve and flung her swiftly over his shoulder. As he left the room, he pulled the door shut, then hurried for the stairs. On the landing, two of the male staff came hurrying up.
“We found two on the floor below,” one of them said. “What about you?”
Rasmus told them of the man he had found and how the fire was quickly spreading.
“The master’s down,” the man said, shaking his head. “Nothing we can do for him now. Best get out onto the street. You’re the last. Come on!”
Rasmus went as quickly as he could, barely able to see where he was going. He relied more on his free hand feeling for the way. Eventually, he staggered into the lobby and stumbled outside, coughing. He moved quickly along the alley away from the building and then, finding a secluded doorway, set the girl down gently. Immediately, he noticed her eyelids flickering and breathed a sigh of relief. He cautiously reached out to her neck once more, and this time did not receive a shock. Her heart seemed to be beating normally. Rasmus eased her down across his lap and bent his head low to listen to her breathing – also normal.
It was only then that he looked at her properly. Her blackened dress was a little too large for her but could not hide the fact that, beneath the cheap material and simple design, she was a thin girl barely into womanhood. Unlike the painted and styled courtesans, the girl’s face and hands were dirty and her dark hair was roughly plaited. Her lashes were long and dark like her hair and her nose was slightly upturned and tapered.
As he moved a couple of loose strands of tangled hair away from her face, he found himself mesmerized by the natural beauty beneath the dirt and grime. He mentally washed off the blackened smudges and, very soon, could not look away. Her limbs were slender and her fingers were long and thin. The hands themselves were small compared with his and the nails were short, probably chewed. Regardless, he had never seen a more beautiful creature in all his life. He had seen queens and princesses, ladies of court, foreign beauties and exotic performers, but none compared with her. She twitched slightly in his lap and he suddenly remembered where they were. He lifted her up once more and, this time, carried her carefully in his arms, her head resting limp against his shoulder.
He took the quieter backstreets to his apartment, lest someone should question him. Though it took him longer than usual to get home, he felt as though hardly any time had passed at all. After a little trouble opening the front door of the complex, he ascended the staircase slowly, being careful not to make the wooden steps creak or bump th
e girl’s head against the walls. He reached the top floor without incident and fumbled with his apartment door, stumbling in and closing it quietly behind him with his foot. His eyes remained fixed on the girl’s face. She did not stir. He crossed the living room and entered his own bedroom, where he eased her down onto his bed. Then he stood up straight and stretched out his aching back and shoulders.
“Gods,” he muttered, before going in search of his washing basin and some towels.
After cleaning the smeared soot from her face, arms and feet, he began to see the extent of her injuries. At first, Rasmus had simply assumed that the soot had been stubborn on her skin but, eventually he’d realized that the lingering dark smudges were bruises, both old and recent, some a dark shade of purple and others a pale yellow. There were also strange scars across her brow and along her forearms, recently healed. The fight against the guards of the Gifted Rose he had witnessed had evidently not been her first. Had she started the fire upstairs? Was it possible she’d killed that man too?
Rasmus looked down at her thin, fragile body and immediately dismissed that idea.
He moved over to his chest of drawers and withdrew one of his best shirts and a pair of trousers. The girl’s dress was scorched so badly in parts that he could see glimpses of her skin, something he fought hard to ignore. He supposed, for her dignity, she would prefer to wear something else when she woke, so he laid the clothes down on the table beside the bed.
For a long while, he sat silently, watching and waiting. He was facing the window and his eyes drifted back and forth between the night sky and the unconscious girl in his bed. Her breathing was slower now, and deeper. It was as though she knew she was safely away from the fire and whatever had transpired before it.