Chapter 1 #3
The barkeep said, “I didn’t expect someone new to the city would be able to find his way there. This is a friend of mine I knew would be on patrol.” He cleared his throat and gestured to the door. “Be careful out there.”
Clouds drifted overhead, fat and gray with snow.
“Please don’t,” he whispered to the sky. He had nowhere to go, but even worse: he had no one to turn to. His vision blurred, turning the park into hazy green and gray.
“What was that?” said the guard. Her city guard coat looked warm—a red-brown wool treated to withstand the elements of the city’s winter.
Hawk’s graying wool frock, gone thin at the elbows, wasn’t going to be able to withstand anything like this.
The guard stopped short once she’d gotten a good view of Hawk’s face, and then she hissed through her teeth. “Well, you don’t need to cry.”
“I’m not crying,” said Hawk as one of the tears broke free of his lashes, slipping traitorously across his face. He wiped it away in a huff. “Sorry. I just—”
“Where’s your spouse?” Her eyes roamed across his shoulder-length blond hair—the length inaccurately identifying him as a married elf. They cut their hair at their wedding ceremonies, typically. Unattached elves kept their hair long, long, long.
“No spouse,” said Hawk, tucking his choppy hair behind an ear. He supposed he was grateful the barkeep hadn’t gossiped about the disastrous state of his life, but now he had to say it again. “I’m here now because I’m…” He choked on the word divorce. “...no longer married.”
The guard stopped at the front of a building with several tall vine-laden columns at the front.
The autumn-gold leaves rippled in the breeze, and several chimneys above puffed foggy clouds of smoke, beckoning him closer.
The guard placed a hand on his shoulder, over the strap of his bag, and said, “Congratulations on your fresh start. And welcome to Abblesbet. Tell me you’ve got a plan for tomorrow. ”
He pulled the barkeep’s penny from his coat, pinching it between his fingers and squeezing tight. “I’m going to try to look for garden work? Anywhere that will have me. I can plant things and tend to weeds, but I can also clean a dish. Anything will do.”
The guard hummed thoughtfully. “A garden, you say? You’ve heard of Sutaire Place?”
He looked up at her—she was almost a full head taller than him, and he wondered if she was part giantess. Then again, he was short for an elf. He tried not to shrink beneath her kind brown eyes. “I don’t believe so.”
“It’s a place for elves,” she said. “They’ll be sympathetic, no doubt. Stop by in the morning.” She pointed down the block, across several limestone buildings. “That street there? You’ll walk north. That way. And you won’t be able to miss the sign. Sutaire Place.”
Hawk, dazed from her kindness and his drink, nodded in understanding.
“I’d get there early if I were you; before the first bells.”
“Thank you,” he said. She dropped her hand, and his heart pinched. It’d been the first time he’d been touched kindly in a very long time.
“Good luck, kid,” she said.
He didn’t correct her. As she took off, back towards the bar, Hawk realized he’d never asked for her name, nor the barkeep’s. But he meant to thank them both. He would do so. One day.
Perhaps Abblesbet had been the right choice, and the cold winds weren’t an omen of disaster. As Hawk exchanged the penny for a key to the bathhouse, he thought: summer flowers grow from winter bulbs.
That next morning, Hawk figured out very quickly that Sutaire was a brothel, because as he approached the doors, there was already a line along the side of the building, and all the elves waiting were beautiful and prim and well-dressed.
Well, that, and two of the ladies nearest to him gossiped excitedly about their future as adame.
Today was the one day per month that Sutaire opened its doors to elves hoping to make a start as consorts-for-hire—the adame apprenticeship open call.
One of the chattering women caught Hawk staring and grinned. “You look a bit frightened. It’s alright. Worry not. Many have to reapply month after month. Even if you don’t make it this time, you may be chosen next.”
Hawk sputtered, choked, and settled on one firm nod. He was not there to be an adame, but how could he say such a thing without sounding as judgmental as he felt? He was not qualified—no, worse. He would be laughed out of the building. Eventually, he found his voice. “They do this every month?”
“Open calls? Yes.” The lady, with her rosy cheeks and blue eyes, scanned the line. “This group is a bit smaller than usual. The line can sometimes wrap around the whole block. Any elf is welcome to try to make it in.”
“That many?”
“Well, Sutaire Place is the best in all of Abblesbet. Which is saying something, since the city has dozens of brothels like this one.”
Her friend leaned forward as she interrupted. “She speaks true. But Sutaire isn’t only the best in Abblesbet. It’s the best in all of Nightveil.”
The two of them nodded, agreeing. Hawk hesitated before he nodded too. “I’d not heard of it.” He’d not heard of Abblesbet’s reputation, in fact. Dozens of brothels? It was a sizable city, to be sure, but this city’s adame practice seemed something of a cultural specialty.
The girls met eyes, smiled, and one said, “You must be from somewhere less…urban?”
Hawk’s gaze found his worn boots. “River District. I arrived here only yesterday.”
One of the girls clapped, excited for him in a way he couldn’t understand. “You got here just in time. Good for you, starting with the top.”
Hawk swallowed as he said, “No. Elys above, no. I’m not so bold—” He began to explain, but a bell rang out from the front door as it opened, and the girls jolted to rapt attention as a severe-looking, white-haired, thin-faced elven man stepped out.
He examined the line, nodded once, and said in a firm voice, “Alright. You’ll all do. With me.”
Hawk followed as everyone filed into Sutaire’s expansive foyer.
His eyes adjusted to the dim, warm wallpapers, lit by stained glass lamps and candelabras that were nearly spent.
Hawk realized, as he passed one candlestick with a small mountain of melted wax upon its base, that it must have been lit when business opened the previous day.
Nine at night to now. While he had slept in the bare quarters of the bath house, the elves at Sutaire were all hard at work.
Doing…well. Hawk could only guess. He hoped the flush on his purple skin was masked by the dim light.
The elven man began to walk down the line, a pad of paper in his hand.
He made a few quick notes as he walked, and as he got closer and closer, Hawk’s panic arrested his breath.
He couldn’t get enough air; his mind swam.
No. This was a mistake. He had to go. He took a step back, towards the front double doors.
He was an unwanted, unkempt, untrained country bumpkin.
He didn’t belong here, at whatever evaluation this was—
A middle-aged human woman with thick brown hair and round spectacles stepped out from a long carpeted corridor near Hawk’s side.
Her presence stopped him short, and she offered the group a smile.
“Good morning, ladies and gentle…man.” She said, realizing Hawk was the only fellow present.
“Let’s take a look at you all.” She swept down to the front of the line, taking the pad from the severe elf as they crossed paths.
He made one gesture, and the woman nodded, and they both began at the front of the line.
She looked at what he wrote and began tapping shoulders.
Tapped one girl, skipped the next. Tapped the one after that, then the next, and skipped again.
She turned back around and made her way towards Hawk.
Standing before him, her grin widened, and she held out a hand.
He blinked at it—elves greeted one another by tapping the back of their fists, but she had her hand outstretched like a human in an introduction.
He hesitated before sliding his fingers atop hers, but before he could kiss the back of her hand like he might, she grabbed him and tugged him forward.
She pointed with the notepad at an arched wooden door with a simple brass knob.
“Through that door there, please.” She released him and faced the girls again.
“If I tapped you, please follow me. If I did not, you’ll be following my associate, Reeves. ”
And then she took off, fielding no questions, observing none of the startled or confused faces of the hopefuls. Reeves, the severe elf, swept a hand towards a different door for his picks.
Hawk stood before the room the woman indicated for him alone.
He wasn’t certain if he should knock, or simply enter, so he opted to do both at once—knock, and turn the handle.
Inside, the windowless room was the size of a small bedroom and were a few comfortable-looking lounge chairs, and a steaming kettle.
Hawk stepped inside and looked at each seat—red velvet, with throw pillows, and no real differences—before choosing the one farthest from the door.
He had been singled out. And he didn’t need to wonder why. He didn’t fit in with this group—
Everyone knew he didn’t belong here. But that was fine. Just fine. When someone came to speak with him, he’d explain it plainly: he wanted to water their flowers, pick their weeds, and harvest any of their crops. Did they even have a garden? They must.
As soon as Hawk sat in the room, tired from his long night and all his worrying, the door creaked open, and he jumped to his feet again, fists clenched. He opened his mouth to explain, right away, but his voice died before it ever left his throat.