“Why don’t you tell me what you’re planning and I can suggest someone?” the woman said. “We have a wide variety of men available. Their fees vary depending on their popularity and skills. Some are just pretty faces, while others are experts in manners and etiquette appropriate for any occasion. If you need not only an escort but a bodyguard, we have several former military men available.”
As if waiting off-stage for this introduction, the most handsome man Amaranthe had ever seen strolled into the room. He was a foot taller than her, a couple of years older, broad of shoulder, and nicely muscular, as revealed by the lone piece of clothing he wore: a-was that fur?-loincloth. To fight reddening cheeks, she forced her attention to his face. Curly brown hair hung tied back from his neck, leaving a few wisps to frame prominent cheek bones and clean jaw. His warm brown eyes glinted with good humor.
After a flustered moment during which she could not remember her name or why she was there, Amaranthe’s mind shifted to calculation. She imagined the ink-and-paper purchasing trip she must soon go on. With her buying, the merchant would say, “Yes, that will be full price plus tax and a shelving fee.” With him buying, it would be, “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly charge you for these supplies, and are you available for dinner tonight, my treat?” That was probably an exaggeration, but with most of the business in the city handled by women, surely he could arrange hefty discounts simply by smiling.
“Costasce,” the man said to the proprietor, “you told me Lady Ludwist was a sophisticated woman from a warrior-caste family. You didn’t say she was five hundred years old.”
“Nonetheless, I notice you’re not returning from your evening’s duties until-” Costasce pulled out a pocket watch, “-10:30 the next morning. It couldn’t have been that unpleasant.”
The man appeared scandalized. He shuddered. “That old crone hung on to me like a starving titmouse grasping for the last piece of corn before winter, but I assure you there were no extra services performed. Not that she didn’t try to inveigle them out of me. After the harrowing experience, I chose to spend the night drinking myself into a state of amnesia.”
“Maldynado, go sit down. Can’t you see I’m doing business?”
“Sure, boss. I just thought you might like to show off some of the wares.”
With no sense of humility or embarrassment, Maldynado stuck a thumb in his loincloth and struck a pose that displayed…a lot. An easy-going smile and amused gleam in his eyes suggested he neither took himself seriously nor expected anyone else to.
“Oh, sit down,” the proprietor said, tone somewhere between exasperation and affection.
Maldynado offered the sort of sweeping bow the warrior caste had spent generations perfecting, then ambled across the room and flopped onto a sofa.
“What’s his story?” Amaranthe glanced toward the door as she spoke, torn between wanting to flee and wanting to recruit this Maldynado.
“Hm, eighth son in an old warrior caste family. Apparently, he refused to go to officer candidate school and join the military. He’s been loafing around on the family estate since. His parents disowned him, and he showed up here a few months ago. Despite being lazy, his looks have made him profitable.” The woman’s face took on a speculative cast as she studied Amaranthe. “He can put on good manners if the situation demands it, and he’s one of the top-ranked duelists in the city, if you have need for protection.”
“A fencing expert?” Amaranthe knew little about the sport dueling the warrior caste practiced, except that enlisted soldiers had little respect for it. A gentleman’s game or not, it was still an art that required years to master. Hardly the pedigree of a lazy man. “May I speak with him?”
“Of course.” The proprietor withdrew to give them privacy.
Amaranthe paused at a window to peer both directions down the street. She was just in time to see the two enforcers entering an alley that advertised several shops and cafes. Good, she had a few minutes.
She sat next to Maldynado. “I hear you’re a highly ranked swordsman.”
He smirked. “In more ways than one.”
Amaranthe resisted the urge to roll her eyes. With his looks, anything less than a gargantuan ego would have been shocking.
“Are you a gambling man, Lord Maldynado?” Amaranthe asked.
“Just Maldynado. I’ve been disowned, you know. What kind of gambling?”
“I have a comrade who is something of a fighter. What would you say to a contest?”
Maldynado’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not Jano or Kasowits, is it?”
“No.”
He relaxed and threw his arm over the back of the sofa. “Your friend prefer saber or rapier?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve actually never seen him fight.” Unless the time Sicarius had almost killed her counted.
“Ah.” The confident smirk twitched across Maldynado’s face again. “What did you want to wager on the outcome?”
“If my man wins, you will work for me for two weeks without pay, though I will see to it that you are fed and have a place to stay.”
“What kind of work?”
He was smarter than she had first guessed. Confident or not, he wanted the details before he committed himself. She leaned forward conspiratorially and lowered her voice.
“I confess, it’s slightly illegal, but you shouldn’t be in any danger. I just need help setting things up.”
Maldynado appeared more intrigued than appalled. But then, the warrior caste tended to think itself above the law. Besides, he was probably bored after spending the last couple months chaperoning old ladies around.
“Danger doesn’t scare me,” he said.
“I mean to help the emperor. I’ve recently found out he’s in trouble from his trusted advisors.”
Maldynado lifted his shoulder, apparently less interested by this addendum. “So, what do I get if I win?” A suggestive leer accompanied the question, but his innuendo failed to obtain a sinister note. The amused warmth never left his eyes.
“What do you want?”
“How about the same deal?” he suggested. “Your buddy loses, and you work for me for two weeks. Doing anything I say.”
“Agreed. Though my period of indenture could not begin until I finish my current work. After the emperor’s birthday.”
“What happens if you get caught?”
“That is a risk,” she said. More of one than she cared to admit.
“I want three weeks then.”
“Fair.”
“Dusk at the Scarbay Gymnasium,” Maldynado said. “I’ll arrange a judge. You and your pal just show up.”
“Agreed.” Amaranthe stood. “Oh, uhm, if any enforcers wander in, I wasn’t here.”
“Of course not.” Maldynado winked.
With his help, Amaranthe found a back exit out of the establishment. She eased through the alley, watching for enforcers. Though she did not see any, she decided a quick trolley ride out of the neighborhood was in order.
Her car rumbled beneath a clock tower as it tolled eleven. She had plenty of time to return and talk Sicarius into his evening bout. Since Books was no guarantee, she felt obligated to search for another worker.
She dared not return to the business district, so she let the car speed her toward the factories and warehouses along the waterfront. Before she reached the industrial area, she spotted a crowd gathered in a square near one of the stops. Raucous shouts and curses rose above the churning wheels of the trolley. Curious, she disembarked.
In the center of the throng, a young man stood locked into a pillory, wrists and neck bound by heavy timbers. Expletives flew through the air along with rotten apples. The freezing temperatures gave the fruit the authority of stones, as evinced by a number of bruises swelling on the man’s face. Hardly a man. Dressed in oversized clothing, he appeared no more than sixteen or seventeen. On one hand, he bore the circle-and-arrow brand of the Black Arrows. The last time she had seen the mark had been on one of the infected men in the dungeon. They could only be dead now, she thought darkly. Across the back of the prisoner’s shirt, someone had chalked WIZARD. That
