“He threw money on the bed, emptied his purse. He said he didn’t know why he was doing it, he was confused. He still left it there, though.” A smile traced Polly’s lips as she thought of the sudden windfall.
“What will you do with it?” Julianne asked.
There was no compulsion behind the question, but Polly seemed happy to answer it, thanks to Juliane’s emotional dampener.
“Start me own business. I’ve always wanted to be a madam, have me own group of girls. Madam Nacht. They say it means night in one of the old tongues.”
Julianne shuddered. It means a hell of a lot more than that, she mused, thinking of the legend of Queen Bethany Anne’s creator and companion, Michael Nacht. Though, he was said to be responsible for Bethany Anne’s power, it was unsure who was stronger. Many of the legends suggested the student had overtaken the master before the world went to hell.
“Polly, how can I meet Lord George? Where would I go if I wanted to see him away from his advisors?” She wanted to mind read him.
Her first priority was calling off the attack on Tahn. She had to see how tight he was snared and if she could break any hold the New Dawn had over him.
“They’re always with him. Maybe at the Cirque. They’ve a new performance debuting in a couple of days, he always likes to see the first showing. He’ll be guarded, but not by them.” She spat the last word with venom.
Julianne reached out to touch Polly’s cheek. Her eyes flared white, and she murmured another word. “When I walk out that door, you will forget everything that happened in this room. You will remember the handsome young trader. He wasn’t very good in bed, but he was polite.”
Julianne knew from previous mind reading encounters with prostitutes that as much as young men believed in their sexual prowess, to a seasoned professional, most of them resembled fumbling idiots. She didn’t want to stand out, so she kept the false memory consistent with what Polly would expect.
“He talked briefly of leaving town. You do not expect to see him again.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Marcus shuffled his boots on the coir mat outside the inn. It was the third one he had tried—the last one he had visited was full, and the first was closed, apparently for health violations if the notice nailed to the door was accurate.
He ducked his head through the low doorway and hailed the man at the bar. Already, it was teeming with people.
“Any rooms?” Marcus asked over the din.
The innkeeper shrugged. “Sorry. We had to take in the people from Bitch Alley.”
That was the name of the inn that had closed. “Anywhere else I can try?” Marcus asked.
The man shook his head. “Look, if you’re desperate, you can sleep in the bar. We don’t close until midnight, though. Used to be later, but the curfew put a stop to that.”
“Curfew? Has there been trouble in town?” Marcus asked. In Arcadia, that would be the only reason for restricting the movement of citizens.
The innkeeper shook his head. “Those new pricks in town think it’s unseemly, or some shit. Got in old George’s ear and convinced him to make it law. Damned lucky the lord loves his booze, or they’d have shut us down completely.”
Shaking his head, the man turned away. He stepped over to serve a burly man in crisp linen when a woman shrieked.
“You bastard, Emmory!” Heels slammed against boards as a furious woman stomped downstairs and into the bar. “I can’t believe you went and fucked that little trollop!”
A weedy man carefully stuck his head out, then ducked as the girl picked up a nearby mug and pegged it at his head. “Adeline, it was just one night!" he protested.
“You said we were getting married! Instead, you gave me crabs, you asshole! You… you slimy little cunt fucker.”
Marcus bit down on the inside of his cheek. For some reason, the foul language spewing from the pretty girl’s mouth seemed hilarious.
She turned a scathing gaze past him. Slamming a key down on the bar, she snapped at the innkeeper. “I’m going home. You saw me pay for the room—well keep the money. Just don't let that limp-dicked, lice-infested little creep back in. It’s MY room, and he’s NOT allowed in it.”
The innkeeper grinned. “My pleasure, love. Mind if I give it to another patron?” He nodded at Marcus, who cringed at the attention.
The girl regarded him a moment, then nodded. Then, she leaned close. “Here’s a tip. Don’t sleep with the village whore the night you elope with your girlfriend, or she’ll cut off your balls.”
Marcus coughed, wondering if it was possible to feel any more uncomfortable than he did now. “Ok?”
She smiled a brilliant grin. “You can have the room. Might be best to burn the sheets, though. Never know what you’ll pick up in a town like this.”
Turning, she flounced out the door. “I’ll send a man for my things!" she called behind her.
The innkeeper just shook his head. “Crazy, bloody women,” he muttered. He shot a glance at the man—Emmory, Marcus guessed—and flicked his thumb towards the bar. “You heard the lady. I’ll bring your shit down, but you’re not stepping foot back in that room.”
Emmory nodded, then slunk over to a booth and slid down into the seat looking miserable. For a moment, Marcus felt sorry for the man. The feeling quickly vanished when a serving girl walked up to offer him a drink, and Emmory immediately started flirting.
“Doesn’t look like that marriage was ever destined to last,” he commented.
“He didn’t know a good wicket when he was on it,” the innkeeper said. “Name’s Jones, by the way. I’ll send one of the girls up to clean the room. And, er, change the sheets.”
Marcus laughed. “That’d be appreciated. How much do I owe you?”
Jones lifted his hands and shrugged. “You heard the lady. It’s already paid for.”
“Thanks!” Marcus stood. “I’ll go get my things.”
He went out to the crowded stable and unlaced the packs tied to the two horses. Carrying his things in, he caught sight of the furious maiden across the street. Her face was streaked with tears and when she saw him, another fat drop rolled down her cheek.
“Do you have a way to get home?" he asked, concerned.
“Y-yes.” Adeline hiccuped. “My footman is looking for a carriage to hire. Surely, someone will have one when they find out what a desperate situation I’m in?”
Feeling awkward, Marcus nodded. He wondered if he should stay until the young woman had company when she suggested he do just that. “Anyone could see me here, weak and vulnerable. I wouldn’t want some brute to take advantage of that.” She caught his sleeve and tugged it gently, looking up with big, bright eyes.
“Err… sure.” He hitched one of the bags over his shoulder, using it as an excuse to move slightly away.
Adeline moved closer. “You know, I really didn’t love Emmory. I was just so desperate to get away from Father. He’s such a beast—always keeping me home, when I could be visiting the city, meeting eligible husbands. Why, my cousin Dora had the most wonderful party the other week, and he made me leave at midnight! Things were just getting exciting.”
Lifting an eyebrow, Marcus didn’t comment. He didn’t think she would appreciate him siding with her father.
“And bringing me to a place like this to get married! I thought he was taking me out of the city, to a far-off estate near the sea. He had no taste, none at all. Just think what my life would have been like!” One hand lifted to her brow and she swooned, stumbling into Marcus. He jumped back like he’d been burned.
“Oh,” she giggled. “I’m dreadfully sorry.”
“No, that’s ok. Um… you’re sure your footman is coming, aren’t you?” He craned his neck to look down the street.
“Unless…” her eye widened. “Unless he’s abandoned me! Oh, sir, please would you take pity on me if he has? I can’t return home alone! There are bandits, and thieves, and Bitch knows what else out there.”
“I’m sure he�
�ll come,” Marcus said, desperately hoping it was true. He stepped back again when she lunged at him.
“Wait, I know! I could stay with you! Where are you from, one of the neighboring estates?”
A carriage pulled up on the street nearby and Marcus shot a glance at it, hoping it was the footman.
“I… came from Tahn,” Marcus explained. He didn’t go into detail about where he had come from before that—he didn’t have a chance.
Adeline stepped back, eyeing him up and down. “You come from a farming village? And you dare speak to me? Young man, do you even know who I am?”
“I’m pretty sure you spoke first,” Marcus said. He straightened, able to look her in the eye now that she wasn’t drooling on him.
“Nonetheless, you have no right to bother me. I am Lady Adeline, daughter of Lord George the Second. I am far too important to be spoken to by a commoner like yourself.”
Adeline picked up her skirts and flounced across the cobbled road, narrowly missing a rider coming through at a trot. She stumbled, glared at Marcus as he reached out to help, then stormed off to the waiting carriage.
“Bitch take me, both his kids are assholes,” Marcus muttered to himself.
A short man flung a door open, then had it snatched out of his hand as Adeline slammed it shut. The footman jumped onto the seat behind the horses and they flopped off down the road, sending up a cloud of dust that tickled Marcus’s nose, making him sneeze.
“Bless you.”
He spun to see Julianne approaching from behind.
“Did you find us a place to stay? I hope so—it’s almost sundown and I’m starving.” She rubbed her stomach for emphasis.
“Oh, thank God. I was almost attacked.” Marcus grabbed her arm and led her into the inn.
“Attacked?” Julianne asked, shocked.
“Yes. A woman jumped me, and I’m pretty sure it was with the intent of marrying me—that is, until she got the idea I was a lowly farmer. That made her back off pretty quickly.”
Bewildered, Julianne just shook her head.
“Is she gone?” Emmory stuck his head out of the door.
Marcus groaned. “Yes. Now leave me the hell out of it.”
“What, she try to hit on you?” Emmory snorted. “I knew she didn’t give a rat’s ass about me. Oh, well, I’ve found a softer pillow to cuddle tonight.”
A hand slapped the side of his head, and he ducked back in. Marcus resolutely kept his eyes averted as they entered the inn and walked past Emmory’s table. Still, Marcus could have sworn there was more than one woman eating dinner with him.
“Let’s get a meal sent up to the room, shall we?” he said to Julianne.
“Oh, I’d much rather eat down here,” she said. “Because there just has to be a story behind what just happened, and I’d much rather hear it in front of him.” She jabbed a thumb at Emmory’s table.
“I hate you,” Marcus muttered.
Julianne laughed as she leaned over the bar. “Can we have two meals brought up, please? I don’t care what, as long as it tastes good. A bottle of wine, too, if you have something old and red.”
“Got some aged sweet wine, it’s going on about five years now.” The bartender pointed at a customer loading up flatbread with some kind of spicy bean mix. “That’s the special. It’s got some kick to it.”
Julianne nodded eagerly. “It smells amazing!”
She headed upstairs after the innkeeper told them which room was theirs. “One of the girls are in there, stripping the sheets,” he said. “She’ll be done soon.”
In fact, she was just on her way out of the room with an armload of linen. “All done,” she said with a grin. “Though I think I need a shower after touching these.” With a mock shudder, she skipped downstairs.
“There’s so much more to this story than I know,” Julianne said, collapsing on the double bed.
“What, you didn’t just read the mind of the dozen people that saw it unfold?” Marcus asked.
“I’d rather hear it from you.” When Marcus gave her a skeptical look, she explained. “Have you ever heard a story told that was so funny, the person telling it couldn’t speak? Or seen something just plain stupid, only to have the stories told about it turn out better than the event?”
Thinking about it, Marcus realized it was true. Sometimes, it wasn’t the story itself that was funny, it was how it was told, or who was telling it.
“I don’t get to do that. Not often, anyway. In the Temple, everyone knows everything almost before it’s happened. So, go on, tell me!”
Humoring her need for a good story, Marcus told her what happened between the lovers, and outside the inn with Adeline. Seeing how much Julianne enjoyed the story, he played up the details and acted the part of the young seductress with gusto.
When someone knocked on the door to drop off their meals, Julianne was rolling on the bed, hysterical. “Oh, my.. And you…” She screeched again, holding her stomach as she laughed.
“Oh, no,” she gasped. “I can’t eat like this!”
Her eyes shone white as she forced herself into a deep meditation, then flickered back as she giggled again.
Eventually, the hunger overwhelmed her mirth and she dove into her meal. “Oh, Bitch’s flames, that’s hot!” Fresh tears, this time from the spicy lentils, slid down her cheeks. Still, she emptied the plate, gulping down wine to cool her tongue.
“Careful with that,” Marcus warned. “It’s not mystic’s elixir.”
“Oh, I can handle my wine,” Julianne said. “Had plenty of practice with the guard.”
Still, she shook her head when Marcus offered to top off the glass. Her muscles were soft and her skin warm and tingling. “What a day. It’s barely sundown, and I’m ready for bed.”
“You sleep,” Marcus said. He hopped off the bed and pulled down a corner of the freshly laid blanket. Then, he spread his bedroll on the floor beside it.
“Oh, don’t be an idiot,” Julianne admonished. “Sleep next to me. I swear, I don’t have lice.”
That made them both dissolve into laughter again. Marcus carefully stacked up the plates and glasses, and left them outside the door by the now-empty wine bottle. “If you’re sure,” he said.
He stripped down to his underwear and slid into bed. The maid had left a bed warmer between the sheets, and he groaned as his feet found the warm spot. “That feels divine,” he said.
He rolled over to nestle in beside Julianne. He rubbed her arm, sending goosebumps down her flesh. Nuzzling close, he pressed his nose into her hair. She smelled of jasmine and wine, and he smiled happily.
“Can you tell what I’m thinking now?" he whispered in her ear.
His only response was a light snore. Ruefully laughing at his string of bad luck, he snuggled in and closed his eyes. In a few minutes, he was asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bette eyeballed the man in front of her. Jake was far taller than her, and yet the short woman still seemed to tower over him.
“Now, either get yer ass back in that line, or fight me like a man who has an actual pair of balls.” Bette slid a glance to Sherp, a gangly youth in the second row. “No offense, Sherp.” Sherp reddened, swallowed and nodded.
He had lost one of his balls after a drunken run through what he thought was an empty field. Even fueled by rum and terror, he couldn't outrun the angry bull he had disturbed.
“Now, what's it gonna be ye big lump of shite?”
Jake’s eyes dropped to the ground. “If it's alright with you, Sargeant, I'll take my place in line.”
He shuffled back and Bette resisted the urge to kick him in the balls anyway. From the sidelines, Garrett gave her an approving nod. She scowled back. Don't need yer bloody approval, ye bastard, she thought, uncaring that he couldn’t hear it.
“Now, do it again ye soft cocks! Try ta do it at least as half as well as the only real soldier in yer bloody troop.” Pointing at Sharne, who already held her spear overhead perfectly straight, B
ette grinned.
“Yes, SIR!” Sharne yelled a bare second before the others.
Bette ran them through drills three more times, cursing out the slow and the slouched, those with poor form and worse balance. “Ye think ye’ll stop an army with that limp dick?" she asked one young man before jabbing him in the forearm.
The spear clattered to the ground, and he picked it up, chagrined. “Sorry, Sir.”
When she finally let them go, they were tired and sweaty. Even Sharne’s form had begun to suffer, a telltale wobble in her spear tip showing her fatigue.
“Off with ye, then,” Bette yelled. “Go feed yerselves some breakfast and do some real work.”
The group of villagers slumped in relief.
“Hey now, don't cry, ye pussies. That was the best bitch-damned training we've had! I never seen progress like this. Better than a guard troop of pubescent rearick, ye are! We'll have ye trained ta fight dragons with toothbrushes in another week or two!”
Some of the men grinned at that. She had spent the last session telling them how fast that pubescent group of rearick would kick their asses.
“Do ye think they'll survive in a real fight?” Garrett asked when they had gone.
“Aye. Marcus has been training them well. They've got the forms, they just need the strength.”
“And if they're tired and aching when the attack comes?” Garrett picked up the spears left behind by the trainee fighters and started stacking them in the makeshift rack.
“Then we teach them to fight tired and aching.” A hard glint to Bette’s gaze made Garrett want to know more, but afraid to ask.
She saw his curious look. “When I finally convinced Henrick to teach me fight skills, he told me the day I began was the day I'd get trounced the moment I left. The cadets I learned with weren't exactly known for forward thinking. I got beaten every day for three weeks. I didn't have the luxury of resting, and I'm bloody well stronger for it.”
Garrett knew she'd had a hard time. She was the first female fighter in… well, ever. She had fought tooth and nail to be accepted by the rearick as a fighter, and for the most part, she had won. It hadn't come easily, though.
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