“Men have certain needs, needs that are unnatural in women. Brothels are a sin, but I can understand his needs for female companionship.”
Now Nyx laughed. It was a full-belly laugh, and she laughed so hard it hurt. “
“I don’t drink liquor.”
Nyx got up and poured herself the last of the whiskey in the bottle. “Inaya, when we get Taite back, you and your brother need to have a talk.”
When, she had said. Not if.
The lie tasted all right.
30
The next day, just before mid-morning prayer, Nyx drove the bakkie to the east side on her own. Nikodem’s residence was in a decent part of town, not one where a bakkie like hers prowled the streets. A few blocks north, the blue and green tiles of the business buildings at the city center reflected the new dawn as it bled to violet.
Nyx parked a block from Nikodem’s residence, partially hidden by a gaudy fountain splashing at the center of the square. She had a clear view of the entrance and the sidewalk just north of it. Nyx pulled out her transceiver and rubbed it absently.
No sign of Rhys.
She hadn’t touched any sen all morning, so she was a little shaky, but having red teeth and numb fingers for this job would be about as stupid as being drunk. She glanced at the cake boxes on the seat next to her and rubbed the transceiver again.
The transceiver buzzed.
She shook it, put it to her ear.
“Yeah,” she said.
“I’m moving in, boss,” Anneke said.
“Good. You see Khos?”
“Not yet.”
“Khos?”
“We’re on our way,” he said over the line.
“All right. Go in.”
Anneke severed the connection.
Nyx hated manual transceivers. They were easier to eavesdrop on, easier to trace. If Raine or Rasheeda or Fatima ran a transmission sweep, they were fucked.
She watched Anneke move in and gave her ten minutes by the fountain clock. Then Nyx locked the bakkie and walked up the street to the residence.
She nodded at the armed, veiled woman playing door guard as if she’d known
her all her life and stepped through the sliding doors.
Anneke’s voice hit her as the doors opened.
“I asked for a head-of-household room three months ago. Is this how you treat your heads of household in this residence? How do you lose a reservation—”
The bewildered desk clerk kept opening her mouth and closing it again. She was little, young, veiled, and neatly dressed. The murals on the wall were glass mosaics of dense jungle and jeweled bugs. A chittering mass of soarer beetles sprayed a fine mist of water from their cages along the edges of the room. The whole residence felt humid, dense.
Nyx hurried up to the counter and mustered up her best Chenjan. “Excuse me,” she said, nudging Anneke aside. “Has a delivery arrived? My employer is having a party on the third floor. There should be two pastry deliveries—”
“I’m sorry sir,” the clerk said. “There have been no deliveries—”
“Your reservation policy clearly states—” Anneke continued.
“I’m sorry, but without a state-approved confirmation—”
“Pastries. The bakery on this street. Are you sure?”
“There have been no deliveries, sir, I—”
Nyx went back out into the street. She sat in the bakkie and waited.
Five minutes, tops. Anneke was a good catshitter, but not that good.
Nyx saw Khos and four women dressed in the gaudy colors of whores, their hair uncovered, approaching the residence. Khos stared down the door guard, and they walked inside.
Nyx pulled the two cake boxes out of the back. They were filled with bags of sand. Sand was cheaper than cakes.
She walked back to the residence, carrying the boxes. When she went through the sliding doors this time, she heard a wave of angry voices.
The front desk clerk looked like a cornered animal.
The whores yelled at Anneke. Khos yelled at the clerk. Anneke’s color had deepened, and the veins in her neck stood out. She was having far too much fun.
“This is a disgrace! A disgrace! Whores! You offend my—” Anneke yelled.
“I’m sorry. There’s some misunderstanding—” the clerk said.
“No misunderstanding,” Khos said. “My women were asked up to a gathering on the fourth floor. This is a highly important client—”
“If you could just tell me the client’s name—”
“That’s confidential. He has a state stamp. I cannot—”
Nyx angled toward the faceplate door and called to the clerk, “I have the pastries. I can’t reach the plate. Could you—”
“If you simply buzz our client—” Khos said.
“I need a name before—”
“Can you just open this door?” Nyx said.
“First you lose my reservation, and then you intend to put me on the same floor with these dirty—”
“I can’t reach the plate,” Nyx said. “If you could just buzz me in—”
Sweat beaded the clerk’s face. She reached under the counter.
The door slid open.
Nyx stepped in.
The door closed and cut off the sound.
Nyx did not allow herself a grin. The clerk would call for help soon, and Anneke needed to get in before that happened.
The stairs were adjacent to the main door. Most residences kept bugs in the lifts. Nyx ditched the cake boxes in the stairwell and headed up.
She pushed into the short hall. The floor of the corridor was hard wood, and moaned under her sandaled feet. Nyx pulled her burnous up and followed the dimly lit signs to room tres-bleu-chose. The whole place had a Ras Tiegan theme. She passed the door and walked to the window at the end of the hall to wait for Anneke. She dared not go in on her own to face a magician.
Nyx waited a couple of minutes, then heard a door open behind her. She turned and saw a woman walking out of the room. The woman spoke Nasheenian to someone still inside, asked if they wanted something from a vendor.
The woman spared an incurious glance at Nyx, then started off toward the lift. The door shut behind her.
Nyx looked back out the window.
If the magician was gone, that should leave Nikodem alone in the room.
Nyx clasped her hands behind her back. The window gave her an inspiring view of the cracked parking lot
