Day grinned her innocent little grin. “About where you are now, but with less charming company. Caution first, always.”
“ So true.” He dropped his voice back to a whisper. “And here they come.” Murcatto and Vitari appeared, both masked, powdered and dressed, or rather undressed, like the many female employees of the establishment. Vitari opened the door beneath the crown and entered. Murcatto glanced briefly up at the ceiling, nodded, then followed her. “They are within. So far all proceeds according to plan.” But there was ample time yet for disasters. “The yard?”
Day wriggled on her stomach to the far edge of the attic where roof met rafters, and peered through the holes they had drilled overlooking the building’s central courtyard. “Looks as if they’re ready to welcome our guests. What now?”
Morveer crept to the minuscule, grubby window and brushed some cobwebs away with the side of one hand. The sun was sinking behind the ragged rooftops, casting a muddy flare over the City of Whispers. “The masked ball should soon be under way at Sotorius’ palace.” On the far side of the canal, behind Cardotti’s House of Leisure, the torches were being lit, lamplight spilling from the windows in the black residences and into the blue evening. Morveer flicked the cobwebs from his fingers with some distaste. “Now we sit here in this mouldering attic, and wait for his Highness Prince Ario to arrive.”
Sex and Death
By darkness, Cardotti’s House of Leisure was a different world. A fantasy land, as far removed from drab reality as the moon. The gaming hall was lit by three hundred and seventeen flickering candles. Friendly had counted them as they were hoisted up on tinkling chandeliers, bracketed to gleaming sconces, twisted into glittering candlesticks.
The sheets had been flung back from the gaming tables. One of the dealers was shuffling his cards, another was sitting, staring into space, a third carefully stacking up his counters. Friendly counted silently along with him. At the far end of the room an old man was oiling the lucky wheel. Not too lucky for those that played it, by Friendly’s assessment of the odds. That was the strange thing about games of chance. The chances were always against the player. You might beat the numbers for a day, but you could never beat them in the end.
Everything shone like hidden treasure, and the women most of all. They were dressed now, and masked, transformed by warm candlelight into things barely human. Long, thin limbs oiled and powdered and dusted with glitter, eyes shining darkly through the eyeholes of gilded masks, lips and nails painted black-red like blood from a fatal wound.
The air was full of strange, frightening smells. There had been no women in Safety, and Friendly felt greatly on edge. He calmed himself by rolling the dice over and over, and adding the scores one upon another. He had reached already four thousand two hundred and…
One of the women swept past, her ruffled dress swishing against the Gurkish carpet, one long, bare leg sliding out from the blackness with each step. Two hundred and… His eyes seemed glued to that leg, his heart beating very fast. Two hundred and… twenty-six. He jerked his eyes away and back to the dice.
Three and two. Utterly normal, and nothing to worry about. He straightened, and stood waiting. Outside the window, in the courtyard, the guests were beginning to arrive.
Welcome, my friends, welcome to Cardotti’s! We have everything a growing boy needs! Dice and cards, games of skill and chance are this way! For those who relish the embrace of mother husk, that door! Wine and spirits on demand. Drink deep, my friends! There will be various entertainments mounted here in the yard throughout the evening! Dancing, juggling, music… even perhaps a little violence, for those with a taste for blood! As for female companionship, well… that you will find throughout the building…”
Men were pouring into the courtyard in a masked and powdered flow. The place was already heaving with expensively tailored bodies, the air thick with their braying chatter. The band were sawing out a merry tune in one corner of the yard, the jugglers flinging a stream of sparkling glasses high into the air in another. Occasionally one of the women would strut through, whisper to someone, lead him away into the building. And upstairs, no doubt. Cosca could not help wondering… could he be spared for a few moments?
“Quite utterly charmed,” he murmured, tipping his hat at a willowy blonde as she swayed past.
“Stick to the guests!” she snarled viciously in his face.
“Only trying to lift the mood, my dear. Only trying to help.”
“You want to help, you can suck a prick or two! I’ve enough to get through!” Someone touched her on the shoulder and she turned, smiling radiantly, took him by the arm and swept away.
“Who are all these bastards?” Shivers, muttering in his ear. “Three or four dozen, weren’t we told, a few armed but not keen to fight? There must be twice that many in already!”
Cosca grinned as he clapped the Northman on the shoulder. “I know! Isn’t it a thrill when you throw a party and you get more guests than you expected? Somebody’s popular!”
Shivers did not look amused. “I don’t reckon it’s us! How do we keep control of all this?”
“What makes you think I have the answers? In my experience, life rarely turns out the way you expect. We must bend with the circumstances, and simply do our best.”
“Maybe six guards, weren’t we told? So who are they?” The Northman jerked his head towards a grim- looking knot of men gathered in one corner, all with polished breastplates over their padded black jackets, with serious masks of plain steel, serious swords and long knives at their hips, serious frowns on their chiselled jaws. Their eyes darted carefully about the yard as though looking for threats.
“Hmmm,” mused Cosca. “I was wondering the same thing.”
“Wondering?” The Northman’s big fist was uncomfortably tight round Cosca’s arm. “When does wondering turn into shitting yourself?”
“I’ve often wondered.” Cosca peeled the hand away. “But it’s a funny thing. I simply don’t get scared.” He made off through the crowd, clapping backs, calling for drinks, pointing out attractions, spreading good humour wherever he went. He was in his element, now. Vice, and high living, but danger too.
He feared old age, failure, betrayal and looking a fool. Yet he never feared before a fight. Cosca’s happiest moments had been spent waiting for battles to begin. Watching the countless Gurkish march upon the walls of Dagoska. Watching the forces of Sipani deploy before the Battle of the Isles. Scrambling onto his horse by moonlight when the enemy sallied from the walls of Muris. Danger was the thing he most enjoyed. Worries for the future, purged. Failures of the past, erased. Only the glorious now remained. He closed his eyes and sucked in air, felt it tingling pleasantly in his chest, heard the excited babbling of the guests. He scarcely even felt the need for a drink anymore.
He snapped his eyes open to see two men stepping through the gate, others scraping away to make grovelling room for them. His Highness Prince Ario was dressed in a scarlet coat, silken cuffs drooping from his embroidered sleeves in a manner that implied he would never have to grip anything for himself. A spray of multicoloured feathers sprouted from the top of his golden mask, thrashing like a peacock’s tail as he looked about him, unimpressed.
“Your Highness!” Cosca swept off his hat and bowed low. “We are truly, truly honoured by your presence.”
“Indeed you are,” said Ario. “And by the presence of my brother.” He wafted a languid hand at the man beside him, dressed all in spotless white with a mask in the form of half a golden sun, somewhat twitchy and reluctant-seeming, Cosca rather thought. Foscar, no doubt, though he had grown a beard which very much suited him. “Not to mention that of our mutual friend, Master Sulfur.”
“Alas, I cannot stay.” A nondescript fellow had slipped in behind the two brothers. He had a curly head of hair, a simple suit and a faint smile. “So much to do. Never the slightest peace, eh?” And he grinned at Cosca. Inside the holes of his plain mask, his eyes were different colours: one blue, one green. “I must to Talins tonight, and speak to your father. We cannot allow the Gurkish a free hand.”
