leave us. Then they will have all the food they could possibly need.” Serena turned back to look up at her creations. “Protect,” she said simply.
The thousands of dark beings flew upward to start patrolling the skies over the island and the sea. As they went, their undersides perfectly matched the night-so much so that in mere moments, they had disappeared from view. Einar suddenly recognized that the small specks of white on their underbellies had been simulated stars. Mightily impressed, he shook his head.
“Will they be so well hidden during the day?” he asked.
Serena nodded. “Their topsides will take on the appearance of the sea, the ground, or the fortress,” she answered, “depending on the terrain over which they fly. Their underbellies will take on the sky’s ever-changing look, be it day or night.”
Einar looked up again. Although he knew that they were up there, the envelopers were nowhere to be seen. He had to admit that he felt safer, knowing that they were overhead. A quick smile graced his lips. Should theJin’Sai ’s forces approach, they would never see the monsters until it was too late.
“All of the envelopers will accompany you on your journey,” Serena said. “When added to the creatures already awaiting you, your work will be well protected.”
Her words stunned Einar. “But mistress!” he protested. “Who will protect you from the Conclave’s forces, should they attack the Citadel?”
“Your loyalty to me is admirable, but do not fret,” she answered. “The Heretics have plans to grant me another form of protection. You will also take the Vagaries scroll with you. Your destination is the last place on earth that the Conclave will think of searching for it. To them, it will be hiding in plain sight, as it were.” She turned away from her lead consul and looked out over the sea.
“I am tired,” Serena said. “I will retire.”
Einar bowed. “Your Grace,” he said reverently.
After nodding to him, Serena levitated from the guard path, her gown billowing as she went. Einar watched her land on the inner ward, then walk away.
Looking up again, Einar used the craft to augment his eyesight, trying to find the envelopers. He stood there for another full hour, dutifully searching the skies.
He never found one.
CHAPTER X
“ARE YOU READY TO SEE THEM?” LOTHAR ASKED. “BECAUSEthey are so choice, at first I considered keeping one or two for myself. Especially the one called Mallory. They’re all a bit dirty and thin, but that can be easily rectified. I’d bet that they’re all virgins-yet another selling point. Before we talk price, you can check if you want. I’m sure the guards would be happy to help.”
Lothar confidently put his feet up on his desk. His highly polished shoes shone in the candlelight. Then he took the cigar from his mouth and blew softly on its lighted end. Tobacco bits clung to his fat lips, adding to the gluttonous impression.
The woman sitting across from him was trying to remain nonchalant. But she knew that Lothar was in the catbird seat. She hated the fat jailor, but her brothel in Bargainers’ Square needed fresh replacements. Unless she got them, she would soon be out of business altogether. Her remaining girls would have no place to go, and for that she would be sorry.
Worse, Lothar understood her plight. He was a regular visitor to her house of ill repute. He knew how few girls remained because of attrition from the orb, and that she had lost many customers. In turn, she knew his price would be even higher than usual. Even so, she refused to be bullied.
“I might not want all eight,” she countered. “It will depend on their ages, general appearance, and how outrageous your price is.”
Smiling, Lothar reached out to pour two glasses of wine. Just then they heard a distant scream filter down the hall and through the office doorway.
Soon begging and sobbing started, their sounds so faint that neither she nor Lothar could tell what the victim was pleading for. Then they heard a harsh slap. Things went quiet again. The woman across the desk looked hard into Lothar’s face.
“That had best not be coming from one of my prospective purchases,” she said skeptically. “Are you sure that your guards aren’t taking liberties?”
“Quite sure,” Lothar answered. “But they are interrogating a lady debtor who refuses to give up the last name of her family’s opposite side. She’s rather attractive, as it happens. Anyway, once we have the name, only then may the guards use her as a pastime. My rules about such things are specific. Any guard who breaks them is subject to death. But they also need to feed the inner man occasionally. You of all people should know that a slice off a cut loaf is never missed, eh?” Taking a sip of wine, he smiled at her like he commanded the entire world.
Ignoring her wine, Mary of the House of Broderick glared back at Lothar with hatred. She was a madam-that much was true. But she was no killer, torturer, or extortionist. Unfortunate conditions dictated that she must do business with him, so she would.
If there was such a thing as a madam with a conscience, it was Mary. Sold by uncaring parents into the trade at the tender age of twelve, over the years she had learned firsthand how to run a prosperous bordello. But even when times were good, it was a closely run thing. Her personal turning point had come six years ago, after being cruelly abused by a customer.
As she lay in bed fighting for her young life, the doctor summoned to her side had told her that although she would live, she would never bear children. Her madam had taken pity on her. She allowed her to stop servicing clients and took her under her wing, teaching her the trade firsthand.
Mary had sworn a solemn vow right there and then. Whenher girls had earned enough to pay off the price of their purchase, they could leave freely. Years later in her own establishment, some of her girls chose to leave, and some did not. But no matter their preference, she was always fair with them. In her own strange way she loved them like they were the children she’d never had.
She could have gotten her girls directly from the street, as did her competitors. But she knew how badly Lothar’s prisoners were treated. She wanted to help as many as she could, before they met even crueler fates at his hands. So she did business with the greasy jailor, despite how much she loathed him. His high prices cut deeply into her profits, but it was worth it.
At forty Seasons of New Life Mary was still a handsome woman, even though her previous years in the trade had stolen the bloom from her cheeks. Dark red ringlets fell to her shoulders. A stylish hat sat cocked to one side atop her head, its diaphanous veil hanging down before her face. Wishing to keep as much of her anonymity as possible, she wore it every time she visited here. Her conservatively tailored dress and equally fashionable shoes made her look more like the wife of some respected burgher or barrister than a bordello proprietor. She liked it that way.
Lothar took another sip of wine. Bluish cigar smoke left his wide nostrils to drift toward the ceiling.
“Now then, do you want to see them or not?” he asked.
Always wary where Lothar was concerned, Mary thought for a moment. “Eight girls taken in one fell swoop?” she asked. “Who are they? Where do they come from?”
Lothar scowled. He had had enough of this choosy, retired whore.
“Since when do you care about pedigrees?” he shot back. “You’re not running a charm school! Sometimes I believe you’re going soft! I don’t know who they are, and I don’t care! Stop wasting my time! Do you want to see them, or do I contact your competitors?”
Knowing she had no cards left to play, Mary nodded.
“Good,” Lothar said. “Let’s go.”
Swinging his feet off the desk, he stood. Mary retrieved her heavy purse from the floor. The kisa inside it jangled together enticingly. Mary winced. The fat jailor smiled.
Lothar escorted her to the doorway. Mary squared her shoulders and started following him down the dark
