Sophie waited by the railing while Tisker and the dock workers cooperated to secure Wind Sabre to their berth via windlass and bracers. She was dressed for the outing, following Talis’s example. A cropped long-sleeved jacket of blue and green satin displayed only a small expanse of skin above her halter-necked dark leather corset. Though the corset accentuated the line of her waist and darted toward the buckle on her belt, mostly its line drew the eye to the pair of mercyblades in metal clasps beneath her ribs. A pair of shotguns crossed Sophie’s shoulders. That was in addition to the two pistols at her hips, the brass-knuckled knife at her thigh, and three or four other weapons that Talis knew were hidden out of sight. She wore gold rings in her ears, a thick golden torque around her throat, and a gold chain with quartz and citrine beads looped between the toggles of her vest. All the gold played nicely off the bruise that sat darkly across her cheekbone. Just the right effect.
In a city where many interactions happened without the benefit of introduction, visiting crews needed to communicate to Subrosans of every vocation that they were capable of handling themselves. It was a balance between dissuading thieves and instilling confidence in potential customers. To look both ready for a fight and worthy of the effort.
The captain donned her weathered jacket, each scuff and patch a testament to a hardship she had walked away from. Beneath it, a simple three-button long-sleeve black cotton shirt. Under that, the ring’s pouch was tied to a leather thong around her neck and tucked into her undershirt, between her breasts where it would make no visible lump. Her boots were buckled over a pair of soft pants with reinforced knees and no shortage of pockets. Double gun holsters at her hips. Shoulder holster beneath the jacket. Knife sheathed in its case on the back of her belt. Tool wrist cuff on her left arm. Her hair was braided with strands of turquoise beads, a gift from Dug many years ago, exotic and rare among Cutters. She capped her prayerlocks in more beads of gold and brass and let them fall over her left shoulder. Beneath her belt, she wore a scarf of pale green silk, doubled around her waist to disguise the shape of her money belt. The scarf’s gold floss tassels brushed the backs of her knees.
Dug, on the other hand, lost layers. He bared his tattooed chest and scarred back. A pair of loose twill cotton pants gave him complete range of movement, and he squared his shoulders under the familiar weight of a half dozen sheathed knives and daggers. He had washed up, and shaved his scalp higher on the sides, so only the very top of his head sprouted purple-black hair and feathers. The style lengthened the bone structure of his face, the pointed tips of his ears, and the angles of his cheek hollows. To increase the effect, gold powder highlighted his sharp features.
It was yet to be decided whether Talis needed Jasper to see the jewelry or the weaponry. The swagger or the danger. The Breaker giant was unlike many of his kind in that he had just enough greed to do well in business. Most Breakers who opened shops still suffered from philanthropic tendencies, which almost inevitably bankrupted them. Jasper instead focused the experience of his age to be a nearly infallible judge of character, and his innate craftsman’s eye to recognize the market values of items that passed through his shop. Add to that his massive size, accompanying stubbornness, and thick hide, and he had cut out quite a respectable place in Subrosa. One of the few thieves to be trusted, or Talis had liked to think.
But now, what to think? Either he’d misjudged the agent who brought him the salvage contract or he had knowingly given Talis a job likely to turn sour. She didn’t like the implications either way.
Talis, Sophie, and Dug left Wind Sabre in Tisker’s care. He was at home, though somewhat reluctantly, in Subrosa. He read the stale air currents like pheromones. Any anomalous behavior on the docks, and he’d spot it and be ready before it turned into something treacherous. Talis would have loved to have his instincts at her side, but she wanted Dug with her more. If the ship was to only have one crew member as guard, she wanted it to be Tisker. Sophie could hold her own in a fight but wasn’t suspicious enough to be left alone with the ship in a port where everyone—down to the dock manager—was going to steal from them at the first opportunity.
There was no direct route to where they were going. Talis marched them through the corridors and access ways, up loosely bolted ladders from one level and up rickety spiral staircases on the next. Through a noisy bar that stank of body odor and grain alcohol and out the back, into a cluttered alley where uncollected garbage mixed with puddles of condensed moisture that dripped from the concrete walls. Sophie made a small noise as the smell of fermenting garbage reached her, and held her sleeve over her nose and mouth. Talis didn’t enjoy it any more than her mechanic did, but she refused to look like there was any Subrosan offense she couldn’t take in stride. Sophie picked up on the silent rebuke and dropped her hands back to rest on her pistols.
Talis led them through another back door, into the red lighting and smoke-filled halls of a pleasure house. Simpering music oozed from a dark corner of the foyer, enhancing rather than covering the carnal noises coming from the curtained-off rooms along the hallways that led deeper into the establishment. Their noses were accosted with perfumes, oils, and incense. Talis was thankful that was all they could smell.
They exited
