“Canvass didn’t turn up anything. We’ve got the Ice Bitch going over the crime scene now. Some of the men wanted to question you, but we got pressure from the brass to stay off. I guess you still have a few friends on the upper floors.”
The Old Man wasn’t a friend, however loosely one defined the term-but he wouldn’t want my operations interfered with.
“What about you? You have any ideas?” Guiscard asked.
I stared into my drink, the liquid thick and black. “I’ve got suspicions.”
“I don’t suppose you feel like sharing?”
“Suppose all you want.”
For the first time in the conversation I caught a glimpse of the man I had met standing over the body of little Tara. He worked to uncurl his snarl, and to his credit when he spoke his voice was empty of contempt. “I’d like to help if I can.”
“I thought you said you didn’t like him?”
“I said he didn’t like me, I always liked him-but that’s not really the point. He was my partner, and there is a code to these things. And if Black House can’t find who killed him, then I suppose I’m for throwing my hand in with you.”
That last note smacked a bit too strongly of youthful sentimentality for my tastes. I scratched at my chin and wondered whether he was lying, and whether it mattered. “Why should I trust you?”
“I didn’t realize you were so awash in resources that you could afford to reject an offer of aid.”
“All right,” I said, handing him the slip of paper from my pocket. “This is what Crispin was killed over. I picked it up off his corpse before you boys showed. It’s a critical piece of information in an unsolved crime. By not immediately giving it to the agent in charge of the investigation you are violating your oath as an impartial arbiter of the Throne’s Justice, and by not turning me in to Black House you are aiding a person of interest in a capital offense. The first will get you demoted, the second stripped of the gray.”
“Why are you showing this to me?”
“There’s a man on that list I’d very much like to speak to, a man who might be able to shed some light on Crispin’s end. I can’t find him, but you could. And if you did, and if I were to hear it… that would be of use to me. Provided, of course, I wasn’t in the gaol for violating a crime scene.”
We eyeballed each other, custom dictating one last round of challenge, then he nodded sharply. “You won’t be.”
“It’s the Mirad, third from the bottom.”
He got up from the stool. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”
“Agent. You forgot something.”
“What’s that?” he asked, with what might have been honest confusion.
“You’ve still got my form.”
“Right, sorry,” he said, pulling it from his coat and handing it back to me before dropping out the exit.
Maybe Guiscard wasn’t as slow as I’d put him down for. I sipped at my coffee and plotted out the rest of the day.
Adolphus returned from the room. “The blue blood gone?”
“He ain’t hiding under the tables.”
Snorting, Adolphus reached into his pocket and handed me a thin sheet of off-white parchment, sealed with a wax sigil. “This came before you woke.”
I held it up to the light, taking notice of the seal, a lion quartered with a trio of matched diamonds. “In the future, you can just inform me of anything I’ve missed when you first see me. You don’t need to drip it out like an old man pissing.”
“I’m not a mail carrier.”
“You aren’t a cook, you aren’t a mail carrier-what the hell do you do here?”
Adolphus rolled his eyes and started cleaning the back tables. The afternoon drunks would be in soon, inclement weather or no. I tore through the wax seal with my thumbnail and read the missive. I find the supplies you tendered the night we first met have proved insufficient for my needs. Perhaps you could find your way to Seton Gardens tomorrow before nine with an equal amount, and we might speak after I complete some unrelated business. Your trusted friend, His Grace, the Duke of Beaconfield
In general my Trusted Friends did not send demands couched as requests, but allowances had to be made for the habits of the upper crust. I folded the note and put it into my bag.
“You open?” the slurred voice of a patron queried from behind me.
That seemed as good a cue as any, and it was about time to see what light the most expensive hooker in Rigus could shed on my situation. I grabbed my coat from upstairs, and headed out into the storm.
I was standing in front of the entrance to a red brick row house north of downtown, near Kor’s Heights and the palatial estates of the nobility. Modest and unassuming, there was little besides Yancey’s word to confirm it as one of the most expensive brothels in the city. Low Town whores ply their trade honestly, uncovered bosoms peaking through red curtains, propositions tossed from open windows. Here it was different. Next to the ash-colored door there was a bronze plate with THE VELVET HUTCH engraved on it.
I knocked firmly, and after a short pause it opened to reveal a fair-skinned woman in a comely but modest blue dress. She had dark hair and bright blue eyes, and offered a fetching smile, well-practiced this side of mercenary. “Can I help you?” she asked, her voice sweet and clear.
“I’m here to see Mairi,” I said.
Her lips curved down in disappointment. I was impressed with her ability to convey warmth and condescension in equal measure. “I’m afraid Mairi doesn’t see many people, and those she does, she’s seen for a long time. In fact, no one in the house is interested in meeting new friends right now.”
I cut in before she could close the door in my face. “Could you tell the mistress that Yancey’s friend is outside? She should be expecting me.”
Her smile seemed a bit more natural after I mentioned the Rhymer. “I’ll see if she’s available.”
I thought about rolling up a cigarette but decided it might show a lack of class. Instead I rubbed my hands together in a futile effort to keep warm. When the door swung back open a few minutes later the dark-haired girl had swapped genial disregard for sultry welcome.
“Mairi has a few moments. Please, come in.”
I stepped into an elegant hallway, tiled marble floors leading to a staircase draped in red velvet and flanked by ebony banisters. A very large, very dim-looking man in a well-tailored suit sized me up discreetly from beside the entrance, unarmed save for fists the size of ham hocks. I had no doubt they’d do in a pinch.
The pretty greeter stood at the foot of the steps, hands clasped behind her back. “If you’ll follow me please, the mistress is just this way.”
I tried without success to avoid staring at her bottom as she climbed the stairs ahead of me. I wondered how old she was, and how she came about her employment. I supposed there were worse ways to make money-it beat working the line at a mill ten hours a day or serving tables at some Low Town dive. Still, lying on your back is lying on your back, even if the sheets beneath you are made of silk.
We took a right at the top and followed a narrow hallway past a row of bedrooms, ending in front of an oak door, gilded slightly to distinguish it from the others. The girl knocked lightly. A throaty voice from inside beckoned us onward, and my guide opened the door ahead of me.
The room centered, perhaps not shockingly, on a sumptuous four-poster bed draped in white lace. Everything about the interior spoke of old money and refined taste, more the bedchamber of a duchess than a whore’s boudoir. Seated at a dressing table in the corner was the woman I assumed to be Mairi the Dark-eyed.
Given the mental image engendered by Yancey’s introduction, I have to say I found myself underwhelmed. She was a raven-haired Tarasaihgn, south of middle age but not by much. Quite handsome, even with the few added pounds she carried about her midsection-but not beautiful, certainly not exceptionally so. Between the two of them I would have preferred the greeter, younger and firmer as she was.
But then Mairi turned toward me and I saw her eyes, dark pools of sable that held my attention longer than etiquette strictly allowed, and suddenly I couldn’t understand what had ever possessed me to compare the woman before me to the girl who had led me to her. My mouth was dry. I tried not to lick my lips.
In one smooth motion Mairi rose from her throne and narrowed the distance between us, offering her hand
