“You marked out a dangerous place to beg,” he told her. “Those who purchase a prostitute’s time are often just as willing to get it for free from a lone woman without a defender, even if she isn’t willing herself.”
She nodded. “I know. I’ve had a few close scrapes here.”
Forgetting his disguise also depended on a wilting slouch, hisback snapped straight at her revelation as a sudden wave of protective anger crashed over him. As brothels went, this was a safe one and accommodated not only men who paid for a few hours with a whore but also those couples who wished to be discreet about their affairs. Men who brought wives not their own to the Blue Rat were assured of secrecy by the owner and her women and clients. He’d chosen it for the safety and anonymity. If, however, any man in there dared lay a hand on his “wife,” they’d learn soon enough they dealt with the cat’s-paw.
“No scrapes tonight,” he assured her. “We’ll rent a room, buy a meal to share, and be gone by morning.” He waited to see if she’d protest at having to share a bedchamber with him, but she only nodded and slipped her arm through his as if it were the most natural thing. “Shall we?” she said.
They were still in the middle of the street when one of a pair of door guards at the brothel’s entrance met and stopped them. Had Gharek been standing straight, he would have been the taller of the two, but the door guard easily outweighed him, with hulking shoulders and arms and a brutish face that had seen one too many street fights and tavern brawls. He loomed over Gharek and Siora, a threatening shadow smelling of ale, grease, and pickled fish. His gaze stayed longest on Siora before his upper lip curled up with a sneer. “Friend,” he told Gharek. “If you can’t afford a better whore than her, you can’t afford to rent a room at the Rat to fuck her.”
Siora’s fingers dug into Gharek’s arm though she remained quiet and kept her eyes downcast. Gharek had expected such a confrontation as well as the casually cruel words. He brandished a singlebelshain front of the door guard. “I can pay. One night and two meals.” He snatched the coin back when the other man reached for it. “I pay the owner or the knock-shop madam, not you.”
The door guard scowled when Gharek disappeared thebelshawith a quick twist and turn of his hand. “Come on then,” he finally said, motioning for them to follow him not to the front door but to the side of the building. “You’ll wait in the scullery.”
Gharek didn’t ask him to explain. The front entrance was for clientele better dressed, better fed, and better smelling than he and Siora were at the moment. He had no doubt that even if they could get a room, it would be one on the ground floor not far from the midden and with the bare minimum of comforts. As long as there was a sturdy bar to set across the door and a decent-sized window to crawl out of, he’d be pleased.
The scullery was a busy place even at this hour, with several hollow-eyed women and boys toiling at slop sinks and washer tubs to clean dishes and wash bedding. The open door that led to the narrow alley Gharek and Siora had taken to reach this part of the brothel allowed in a teasing hint of a breeze, but nothing great enough to lessen the room’s stifling heat. Those working in there barely glanced at the visitors and ignored the big door guard as he strode through the scullery for the main part of the brothel.
They didn’t have to wait long before he returned, accompanied by a tall, elegant woman wearing garb fine enough to gain the envy of any lady in the Kraelian court. Her red hair shimmered in the lamplight, the effect enhanced by tiny jewel-encrusted pins placed in her tresses. Her sharp-eyed regard took in every detail in a single glance, and like the door guard, her gaze rested longest on Siora, but with curiosity instead of contempt.
“You’re the owner or the house madam?” he asked her.
She stared at Siora as she answered. “The second. I’m Madam Cadinn. The door guard said you’re looking for a room.” Her gaze swept them both. “He says he doesn’t believe you have the funds to pay.”
Gharek flashed a trio ofbelshasat her. “I have the funds. For room, bath, and food.” He pulled his hand back when the madam reached for the coins. “I think not. I’ve been here before. I know the house rules. Half after we see the room, half when we leave tomorrow.”
Her drawn eyebrows rose in elegant arches, a glitter of respect in her eyes. “Those are indeed the house rules.” Her lip curled a little as she inspected their garb. “For anotherbelsha, I can get you both some decent clothing. Plain things but clean and not reduced to rags.” She said the last with more emphasis as she stared at Siora. “Unless you want to barter your woman here in trade. A night on her back and she can pay for everything with a little left over.”
Before Siora could protest, Gharek replied. “Not interested,” he said shortly.
Madam Cadinn shrugged. “As you wish. Onebelshafor the room, one for the food and bath paid now. Anotherbelshain the morning, and don’t try to bed-jump without paying tomorrow. Those who try it always regret it.” The hard look she bestowed on him and Siora warned that she didn’t bluff.
She signaled for a maid who, to his surprise, escorted them to a room on the brothel’s second floor. Once Gharek nodded his acceptance, she held out her palm for the first part of payment, promising food and a bath would be delivered shortly.
The chamber was small but well-appointed and illuminated by softly glowing oil lamps.
Siora stood next to Gharek, frowning. “I think this is far too nice for us.” She plucked at her grimy skirts. “I’m afraid I’ll ruin one of the chairs if I sit.”
“Nonsense.” Gharek circled the room, inspecting it with a raptor’s eye. The large bed with its bounty of linens and pillows beckoned with the promise of either sensual pleasure or restful sleep or both. A table and two chairs occupied one corner, and at the opposite corner, two chests took up space. Gharek knew from previous forays to the Blue Rat that they contained any number of interesting items to enhance bed play of all preferences. A pair of large windows offering a view of rooftops and the distant silhouette of the palace spanned half of the longest wall. He unhooked their latches and opened them, allowing the night’s cooling breeze to swirl in and chase away the heat. “It should cool off soon enough.”
Their dinner arrived before their baths. The servants worked quietly and efficiently, setting plates and covered dishes whose delectable scents filled the room. When they left, Gharek peeked under each covering and breathed deep. “Far better than road rations,” he said. He glanced to where Siora hovered nearby, staring at the table as if she could hardly believe the bounty before her. He suspected it had been a long time since she’d seen this much food in one place at one time. “Come on then,” he said, gesturing for her to sit at the table.
She grabbed a drying cloth from the stack the maids brought ahead of the bathwater and laid it across the chair’s seat before perching on its edge. She eyed her skirts with disgust. “If this weren’t my only frock, I’d burn it.”
Her garb was in poor condition, its thread held together by dirt and prayer. Gharek mentally counted the money Zaredis had given him to use for necessary items during this trip. He hadn’t been specific as to what constituted “need.” Something to wear not caked in dirt, splattered in blood, and not coming apart at the seams was, in his opinion, very much a need.
Siora’s clothes might have been filthy and her skin smudged from days on the road and nights lying on the ground, but she didn’t touch their food until she’d meticulously cleaned her hands with cloth and the citrus-scented water the maids had left in small bowls alongside their plates. A memory surfaced in his mind of observing her doing the same thing when she shared a meal with Estred in Estred’s room. She might be covered in layers of grime now, but the small shade speaker was fastidious when given the opportunity.
She stared helplessly at each dish as Gharek uncovered them, her incredulity making him chuckle inside. “I don’t know where to start,” she said. “I’ve not seen so much food in one place in months.”
While he was the empress’s cat’s-paw, he’d partaken of meals far more lavish than this one, but with his stomach gnawing its way toward his backbone at the moment, this particular meal seemed superior to the culinary marvels prepared for Dalvila’s and her courtiers’ pleasure.
“Soup is always a good place to start,” he said, lifting the lid off a tureen to take an appreciative sniff of the steaming contents. He motioned for her to hand him her bowl and ladled a golden broth into it. She took it and set it down on her plate but didn’t immediately delve into it. “Eat,” he said.
“I’m waiting for you to serve yourself.”
Fastidious and polite. And kind. He’d seen that himself many times while she lived in his house. No wonder her treachery had taken him by surprise. Like the earlier voice, he banished the thought. What’s done was done, he thought. He’d dwelt on it long enough and there was no changing the past. To keep dwelling on it promised to eat him alive. He’d saved her instead of killed her, and she had done the same for him. For now they were awkward allies, though he still remained astounded at her offer to accompany him to Domora to help.
Except for a few compliments to the brothel’s cooks, they ate without conversation, pausing at one point for Gharek to rise and let in another crowd of serving staff who wrestled in a hip bath and several buckets of steaming and tepid water. Soon the tub was full and one of the servants left a cake of soap, drying cloths, and a stack of clothing on the bed. Gharek rifled through those, holding up a woman’s split-sided tunic and loose trousers that looked like a skirt when the wearer stood still. “Will these do?” he said. “Abelshawill buy you simple garb that won’t become rags after a wearing or two, but nothing else.”