Silvia moved up onto the bed and sat by his side. They leaned together with their foreheads pressed against one another. They did not speak or move for many long moments. She placed her hand over her stomach as she spoke. It was not the human language she used, but the language of Halis’ birth race. “Soon.”
He pulled back and looked at her, then touched her stomach as well. His usual smile returned to his face. And he spoke a word to her in the same tongue. “Yes.”
She laughed, and they embraced, their mouths coming together.
In the corner, she heard Berrick whisper his daughter’s name.
Yes. Do it for Marim. Hold your tongue and swallow your pride. There was an honor in Berrick she approved of. For his sake, she hoped Marim could be saved. But after encountering Halis, Silvia wondered if the web and the mind-voice of Halis’ fallen people wouldn’t eat her sooner rather than later.
∆∆∆
Count Cortanis sat in his study. He sat with his back to the door and put on every appearance of being busy. His financial papers lay out neatly on the desk, and he held a pen. A box of open envelopes sat by his right elbow. He stared at the desk; he stared right past the papers without sparing them a thought.
“Uncle.” Marim’s voice was as soft as a sigh, but he knew it instantly. He didn’t turn or move. “Uncle, my father went to find the couple that hurt Darith, didn’t he?”
“Go play, Marim,” the count said.
“Please,” she said, and her hand brushed his shoulder.
The count turned to her. She had lost weight in the past couple weeks and it made her appear both younger and older than she was. She no longer resembled a woman, but at the same time, she was one now. Dark ringed her eyes, and he guessed she’d had little sleep.
“You look so like your mother,” he said, staring up into her sad eyes. The only eyes he saw anymore were depressed. His wife was half-crazed with mourning, and the servants crept around with their eyes downcast. He looked in the mirror in the morning and saw hollow, sad eyes.
“Please,” she repeated.
“Yes, child. He’s gone to find them.”
“But not as the police chief.” She held Berrick’s badge in her pale fingers.
“No, he went as a man.” The count settled his head against the soft leather of the chair. They both knew what that badge meant and if Berrick had left it, then there was no denying his goal. “He went to avenge Darith.”
Maybe to avenge Polly too. He never had that chance.
She placed the tips of her thin fingers on his hand. “Darith isn’t dead, Uncle.”
The count moved his hand away from hers quickly and stood. How dare she presume to understand, this slip of a girl? How could she comprehend what Darith’s condition meant? All those years wasted, all the times the count could have acted differently if he’d known Darith would never come to anything. Darith was better off dead.
The count was a good deal taller than her. Yet she looked up at him unperturbed, her pointed chin thrust out. Willful child. I should teach her her place. Berrick always did let his family run too freely.
“Darith isn’t dead,” Marim said.
The count hit her across her face. The blow toppled her to the ground. She lay there for a moment with her face inches from the carpet. Then she sat up, propping herself up on her hands. Her curly hair fell across her face. It was as red as blood. She didn’t cry, but she turned her sad eyes back up to him.
Pulse racing, the count forced himself to step back from her. Regardless of her mouth, she was still Berrick’s daughter. Visions of teaching her what a man was bubbled up in his mind, ripping that flimsy dress from her and showing her how weak her flesh was.
“Please. He needs you, Uncle,” Marim said. “He doesn’t need to be avenged. He needs his father, and I need mine.” Her voice was still soft, and tears brimmed in her large eyes. Her cheek was red, and a small line of blood crossed her lip where she had bitten it. A tear spilled out of her eye and traveled down her unmarked cheek.
The count turned his back to her. He clenched his fists at his side. He heard her stand up. He tried to clear his mind again, but it wouldn’t empty. It was filled now with all the plans that could never come to fruition and the dreams of a future his son could never have.
How life had changed. He recalled those early days away at university. Berrick and he had stuck close together as the only Yahal natives. No one else understood why at eighteen they were both married or accepted that their wives were both under eighteen. Enduring those years had seemed a trial that would lead to better things and they had been noble gentlemen braving the corrupt waters of cultures outside their native Yahal.
Now the count knew himself corrupt; he saw it every time he looked in the eyes of his wife or his son. Until this accident, he’d tried to control his desires, tried to abide by his wife’s edicts, but what was the point? Even the staunch Berrick was turning from custom and there was nothing left to maintain. Darith was ruined and with him any hope of a future.
“There are spiders in my mouth…” Marim muttered, the comment almost lost in the breathy terror of her voice.
“Get out,” he said, rubbing his shoulder, pressing his fingers against the old bullet wound there. Scarred over, he found the bump of uneven skin through his shirt. He glanced to his liquor cabinet, but the shelves were bare. The countess would answer for that absence. “Get out.”
The door closed behind her. The count stood there with his hands clenched at his sides. Then slowly, he leaned onto the desk. A tear splattered on the neatly displayed bills and sheets of figures. Another followed.
Chapter 9
Ladies of the Night
The car passed under the shadow of the Yahal Brothel, and Dr. Trarsius looked up at the towering mass. He diverted his eyes quickly. His face was a little pale. The traffic around The Brothel was always atrocious. Out of towners and off-worlders made their way to see it. The crowding in that sector was one bad side effect of the bustling tourist activity that invigorated the town.
Dr. Trarsius parked two blocks away and let his engine idle. A thought of turning the key again and fleeing occurred to him. It wasn’t to be. A smart person didn’t flee a summons from The Brothel. Not if you wanted to keep working even in the vicinity of town.
Never having been inside, he didn’t know what to expect. He had never wanted to go inside. He saw one of the girls, once, on her rare visit into town. She was the second-most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He’d never thought to see a more beautiful one. He still remembered the whore walking in the streets, and he’d tried to look away. She a little yellow-skinned woman with eyes bluer than a mountain stream. Her eyes had been so empty and so cold.
Now he was called to The Brothel and not by choice. Officially, The Brothel did not command but best keep the powers that be placated. For that reason, he turned off his car and got out.
Smoothing the lapel of his jacket, he stared down the block. Dr. Trarsius began to walk. The sidewalk was crowded with well-dressed men and a few stray women. Street vendors pushed at him, and wonderful smells wafted out of open doors along the street front. He shoved past the people. Hover cars sped overhead, carrying rich off-worlders to and from The Brothel.
Finally, he came to the large, gold-plated doors. The doorman looked down at him from a grand height.
“What do you want?” the doorman asked in a voice that was minuscule for one of his immense size.
“I was asked here by Mr. Ymel,” Dr. Trarsius said. His hands fumbled in front of him until they finally withdrew a note from his pocket. He handed it to the doorman.
The doorman looked at it, then down at the man. “Go inside.”
Dr. Trarsius stepped inside and found himself flanked with men almost as big as the one outside. The sweat on his forehead was gleaming in the bright light. The men looked down at him, and he shoved the note in front of him. A talisman.
One of the men stepped up and read it. He nodded. “Sondro wil
l see you there.”
Another man stepped forward and smiled in a very disconcerting way. Dr. Trarsius had no choice but to follow him.
No vulgar pictures or ornaments lined the hall that would imply what the place was. Everything within the passage sang elegance. Doorways were solid wood with silver handles and intricate carvings. They stepped into a side hallway. The same graceful design reigned here as well. The carpet was rich and dark, and the ceiling was high and hung with lights that dripped crystals. They stopped at a wooden door, and Sondro knocked and announced himself and the visitor.
The door opened. A man of normal size and a reassuring businesslike appearance stood there. He had an old-world Asiatic quality, with a narrow eyes and rod-straight black hair. A wide, white smile caused the creases around his eyes to deepen. “Thank you for bringing Dr. Trarsius to me.”
Dr. Trarsius gulped and shook the man’s hand. “You must be Mr. Ymel.”
“Yes, I’m afraid that is me.” His smile continued, and Dr. Trarsius shifted nervously under it. “Why don’t the two of you come inside?”
Dr. Trarsius stepped into the room as Mr. Ymel stepped aside. Sondro followed him. One other man reclined in a stiff metal-backed chair inside the room. He was fat with long hair pulled back into a ponytail. There was a one-way window in the back of the room, through which the doctor could see numerous shapely women and a few musclebound men walking around.
“Take a seat, doctor,” said the fat man. He made no effort to introduce himself.
“This is Mr. Henton,” said Mr. Ymel, still smiling.
The wide, leering expression reminded Dr. Trarsius of someone, but he was too disconcerted to think of whom.
The doctor sat down across from the man at the table. Mr. Ymel sat down next to him.
The women began to disrobe out in the other room. Dr. Trarsius tried his best not to look; instead, he reached into his pocket, toying with his wallet. Even if he was comfortable with the idea of buying a woman, those cost more than he could afford. His fingers passed over the crisp bill given to him by Silvia the day before.
“You like our view, doctor?” Mr. Henton asked.
“Your girls are lovely,” Dr. Trarsius replied, his mouth dry.
“Indeed, and we’re almost open for business,” Mr. Ymel said. “Perhaps when our business is concluded here you would like to sample one of our girls. No charge, of course. We never charge our friends.”
“What is our business? Is someone sick?” Dr. Trarsius asked, with little hope that was the case.
“No, doctor,” Mr. Henton said. “We have plenty of physicians here to deal with illness.”
“Our business, Dr. Trarsius, is the matter of a woman we have reason to believe you met with,” Ymel said. “One Silvia Black and her partner, Halis Black.”
Dr. Trarsius stared across the table. He looked to Mr. Ymel and recognized Halis’ smile there. He remembered the yellow-skinned hooker who had Silvia’s expression. Then he also recalled Silvia’s face, her eyes blacker than asphalt and her full mouth poised between one action and another. The bills under his fingers crumpled.
“Silvia Black,” he said. For the first time, it occurred to him that she must be one of their girls. Silvia belonged to The Brothel.
“Yes. She has disappeared, you see. We didn’t worry because she only has her show once every two weeks,” Mr. Ymel said, winking at Dr. Trarsius. “A very specialized show. She’s a very special girl, and we became concerned when she missed her show the night before last. So we looked into the matter, and it came to our attention that your secretary remembered a call from a Silvia, and she said that Silvia gave no last name and insisted against a hospital despite your requests. Is all this true, doctor?”
“Yes,” Dr. Trarsius said. There was no reason to deny his acquaintance. They already knew. And he feared what had been done to his secretary, what they still might do.
His fear of Silvia melted away as he looked at these men. He believed he understood her. She had to get away from them, away from this place. If there was coldness in her, it was a coldness that came from The Brothel. Her darkness belonged to The Brothel and not to herself. He saw her perfect face, and the flawless curve of her waist and love replaced what had hitherto been distaste in him.
“Tell us, why has she not returned to us?” Henton asked, but it was not a question, not with a guard like Sondro standing by the door glowering.
“Her brother’s injury,” Dr. Trarsius said. His hands were shaking, so he clenched them together in his lap.
The women in the window were moving about. They were like wraiths, every one, beautiful faces and bodies that seemed disconnected from anything except the internal rhythm of the other women. They moved as one, even as they moved separately. One girl began to dance. It was the dance of a snake. Her breasts thrust out against the air, and her arms writhed above her head.
“Halis is unwell? What, pray tell, happened?” Mr. Ymel asked, his smile wider than ever. Dr. Trarsius saw Halis grinning up at him from the bed. Halis’ smile had terrified the doctor, but now the fear emptied.
The doctor didn’t know what to say. He wanted to protect Silvia and her brother from these men. What could he do against the juggernaut of The Brothel? “He was shot twice. Once in the side and once in the arm.”
The doctor didn’t know if he imagined it, but he thought Mr. Henton went a bit pale.
“He must be brought back to us. We can treat him,” Mr. Henton said.
“And Silvia? Is she hurt?” Mr. Ymel asked. His smile was forced, frozen and stiff.
“No.”
“You must bring us to them. We must treat Halis. You aren’t equipped to do so,” Mr. Henton said.
“If she’d wanted you to treat her, surely, she would have come to you,” Dr. Trarsius said.
“What did you say, doctor?” Ymel asked.
The doctor swallowed past a lump in his throat but said nothing else. He thought about his neat little office and his chubby secretary. He thought about the house he’d just bought with the backyard filled with trees. He thought of the dinner parties he went to on weekends with other doctors and lawyers and their wives. And Silvia’s scent enveloped him.
“Who shot Halis?” Mr. Ymel asked after a moment of silence.
“I don’t know,” Dr. Trarsius said. He wanted to see his house again and live his life, but Silvia’s face swam before him. He could see her lips forming the word please.
“You don’t know?” Mr. Ymel said. His eyes were dark behind his smile.
“I’m afraid not. She didn’t tell me anything.”
“And you did not insist on knowing before you treated him?” Mr. Ymel asked.
“She claimed she did it. He claimed she did not,” the doctor said.
“And there was no one else there? No…bodies?” Ymel asked.
“Not that I saw.” He thought about the blue-faced man who had lain carelessly outside the door of a bedroom upstairs. He thought of the big burly man with a horrible puncture wound to his thigh.
Mr. Ymel was silent, but his eyes stared coldly at the doctor.
“Where are they, Dr. Trarsius?” Mr. Henton asked.
Outside the window, men were beginning to pour inside. More of the women were dancing. They wore or didn’t wear anything the mind could conjure. One woman was covered with what could easily have been black tar; it slanted over her body in a neat strip all the way up her neck and covered one eye. Long, black silk scarves encircled her wrists, tethering them together, though not inhibiting her movements. She danced wildly.
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you.” The doctor slid his sweating palms on his legs.
“You should be afraid, doctor,” Mr. Henton said.
“We thought you were our friend, Dr. Trarsius,” Mr. Ymel said. His eyes narrowed so only a twinkle shone between the lids. “I shouldn’t like to find out that we thought wrongly.”
“If Silvia wished for you, she would have sent for you. I gave my word I would
n’t go for help. I gave her my word that I would treat her privately.”
“And it was our money that she paid you,” Henton said.
“She hasn’t paid me yet,” Dr. Trarsius said.
“Are you our friend, doctor?” Mr. Ymel asked.
“Yes,” Dr. Trarsius said. His voice sounded thin and high. He doubted he would ever see his house or his friends again. Silvia’s face haunted his mind, her eyes were scared, and he knew what she wanted.
“Silvia and Halis Black are dangerous people. You aren’t doing society a favor by helping to keep them on the loose.” Ymel leaned forward. “They could do unspeakable damage.”
“And who made them that way?” Dr. Trarsius asked. He stood up. If they were going to kill him, they could very well just do it. He was sick of their game of cat and mouse.
Sondro was at his side in a second and pushed him back into his chair. The thug’s hands were huge and powerful.
“Think about what you are doing, Dr. Trarsius. We will find them with or without your help. Do you really want to be our enemy?” Henton asked.
“I will not help you find her!”
“She will not appreciate your efforts. She has no heart and will not value your love or your loyalty,” Mr. Ymel said.
“I will not help you.”
“I’m tired of this business,” Henton said.
Dr. Trarsius stared at him. The women outside danced.
“Kill him,” Henton said.
Sondro hauled the doctor to his feet. Dr. Trarsius stared up at him. He said nothing. Sondro grabbed the doctor’s head and twisted it. Dr. Trarsius heard his neck snap. He felt himself fall to the ground. He saw Silvia laughing and didn’t know whether to be happy or sad. Then he saw nothing; he felt nothing.
∆∆∆
“We should have tortured him,” Mr. Ymel said.
“It wasn’t worth it. He was scum, and we can find what he didn’t tell us,” Henton said. “We know why they’re still missing. Halis’ injuries are the reason. Whatever she went out to accomplish is likely completed. Halis got away from the encounter, and I cannot imagine he left any man standing.”
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