Chapter Fourteen #2
“You’re not old enough to stab your dinner, lad. Run off. I’ll take the horse inside.”
“Go fuck your mother,” the cherub spat and raced off after kicking mud at me.
Ah, the memories. Rising, I gathered the reins and entered the pub.
Strangely enough, or perhaps not strange at all, several horses and four woolly goats were tethered to a rough-hewn hitching post. They were all chewing on some flakes of hay as a tall Bhaston woman with a crooked nose sat beside them, pitchfork in her hand.
“You leaving the horse?” Her accent was thick with tundra inflections. I nodded. “Two coppers. Three if you want feed and water.”
I dug into my coin pouch. Her hand closed around the three coins like a rat trap. Two bards strolled past, strumming lutes as they sang about a woman with three teats but one cold heart. They were the brightest things on this first floor.
“You want a woman?” she asked as one of the horses shit on the floor.
“No.”
“Man?”
“No.”
“If you want anything peculiar, you got to go down the street to the Harried Heron.”
“I do not seek…I seek employment.”
She tipped her chin down to study me. “Wait here.” She stepped over the steaming pile of shit with dirty bare feet. I tied Hasulett to the rail.
If anyone touches you oddly shout.
Apples?
I sighed. I shall find you some.
A shout pulled my attention from a couple having sex on top of a table.
The horse tender pointed to a set of crooked steps.
I bobbed my head and started to climb. The second floor held nothing but dice tables, kegs of ale, and two women wrestling in a tub of green muck.
I asked a dwarf rolling four bone dice for any new arrivals at the docks and was told to fuck off.
The human woman on whose lap he was seated told me floor four and offered me a cherry tart.
I thanked her kindly but declined the tart.
Taking another flight of stairs upward, I moved through a room built for sin.
Beds and lounges, tables with candles, people writhing about wearing animal masks and little else, most with one or more partners.
I was no stranger to sex. I’d grown up in a bandit camp and then on a farm.
I’d even ventured into a brothel in Celear once but left when one of the whores teased me about my freckles.
But I had never seen an establishment like this one.
Gambling, prostitution, and illicit drugs, if the reek of hobo weed were any indication.
Probably all the ale and whiskey were untaxed.
I climbed a spiral staircase after having to apologize to a lizard giving a pelican a hearty fuck for stepping on the lizard’s foot.
Someone lobbed an empty bottle of wine across the room, the glass shattering.
A woman laughed. I scurried up the steps with speed, coming to the top where a human man the size of a rock bear sat on a stool three times too small for the behemoth.
His nose had been broken several times, his ear was cut in half, and his right eye was cloudy.
“They sent me up to talk to someone about work,” I explained.
“Who sent you up?”
“The horse tender.”
“Ah, right, so you’re a strumpet. You’ll need a good scrubbing before you can work the main floor,” Murky Eye said. “Not that the customers are that particular about dirt when they get an elf under them.”
“I…no, I…where are the baths?”
“Down the block.”
“Oh, well, I will go bathe then return to speak to the pub manager?”
“Never heard of him.” I could hear the sounds of multiple people having a romp behind the thin door. The screams of passion were hard to ignore.
“But you just said I needed to bathe before he can hire me.”
“Never said nothing about that. Go wash your arse then come back, and I’ll see if the manager is available to look over your credentials.”
Now he was just being a cock stand. And a leering one at that.
“Thank you for the tip.” The man was obviously lying. I eased back down the stairs, keeping to the edges of the chaos until I reached the ground floor. Hasulett had been fed and watered so was not pleased to be pulled back outside.
Apples?
No, sorry, I have not found apples yet.
Dumb stinky place. Apples! Apples!
I agree but calling for them will not make them appear. I will look.
We walked past several carts selling food, but not one had fresh fruit.
Jaculi slumbered away in my undershirt, his purrs of contentment vibrating through me.
Keeping him secret was as important as hiding my own traits.
Being a good shadow meant not standing out.
So now that I was dirty and downtrodden, looking like the rest in this pirate town, I could walk down the street without pulling curious looks.
I paused at a busy crosswalk to allow four dwarves to pass by.
None were as commanding a presence as Asdren.
Truly, I needed to stop thinking of that dwarf.
A dark-skinned dwarven woman emerged from a stone building, wearing a skimpy bath gown but no slippers.
Wet hair dangling down her back, soaking her turquoise bath gown, she stopped in the crosswalk to begin singing in Dwarvish as she broke into dance.
Bare feet slapping the muck, she began to spin about like a dervish.
Everyone stopped their business to watch.
When the song ended, she bowed and coins were tossed.
“See the full dance and more at the Springs of the Sensual Winds Bathatorium tonight,” she called out as she picked up her coins. She spied me watching her, dark eyes plucking me out of the crowds. “You boy. You have the look of a sorrowful soul about you. Are you seeking employment?”
I nodded even though my coin pouch was full.
A dragon was sleeping with it tucked into his ferret-filled belly.
Lying to a pretty performer felt wrong, but I knew playacting as a waif—even though I was not a boy—would possibly get me information.
Many people visited the bath houses, alas many did not as well.
I had doubts that returning to the Violin after a bath would make a difference, but I would have to try every avenue open to me to find Coelum Cadere.
I tied Hasulett to a statue of a water nymph with directions to let me know if anyone touched him.
Click landed on the slanted roof of a tanner across the street, black eyes following the gulls who were none too pleased to have a renowned nest robber close to their nurseries.
The interior of the bathhouse was dark, thick with steam and scented waters.
Sweat broke out as soon as I entered. We passed several pits filled with bathers, men and women of all races soaking in the public baths.
This would never take place in Celear. The elite would sooner cut off their uppity noses than sit in a bath with a commoner.
While Quinn’s Quay was a pit of filth and lawbreakers, at least they were all equal in their filth and lawbreaking.
Much like the bandit camps my sire called home.
“My name is Killa,” the woman said over her shoulder as we made our way to a small bath that might hold four people. She motioned for me to soak. I shook my head. “There is no need to be shy, young one.”
“I am an elf grown,” I told her, folding my arms under the sleeping wyrm in my shirt. “I dislike water.” It was a lie, but I did need to keep my face dots hidden if possible.
“Yes, I can tell.” Her long nose crinkled.
“If you’re seeking coins with my bathhouse, you will need to be cleaner.
The work is hard but fair. I won’t push you into sleeping with the patrons nor beat you when you slack.
I once had a son…” She drifted off then came back with a sad sigh.
“It matters not. You may change in the back room.” She waved a delicate hand at a doorway to the left. “Come out, rest, wash up. We’ll talk.”
With that, she padded off to circle the baths, spinning about, her gauzy robe whirling around strong legs.
An old human man looked up at me from one of the baths.
I made my way to the door, opened it, and stepped into a room filled with small alcoves.
A small boy, Sandrayan, jumped up from where he was sitting on a mat.
“One copper to store your clothes with protection,” he cited by rote. “No one ever steals anything while I’m here.”
I dug into my shirt, found the pouch, and was nipped by very sharp teeth.
Yanking it free took some doing, but Jaculi finally released it. I placed a copper in the boy’s hand.
“Can you fetch me a towel and some soap?” I asked. The lad bolted out, which gave me a moment to dash to the window, open it, and pull a reluctant dragon out of my shirt. Disgruntled golden eyes flashed at me.
Why did you take my horde then pull me out of my warm space?
It is not your horde. It is mine, and you need to hide in the alley until I call for you. I placed him on the sill. His tail lashed like an angry cat’s. Do not be seen. Stay close to the bathhouse. There are rats aplenty. Go hunt but be discreet.
He went out the window with a huff of displeasure, followed quickly by the squeal of a rat being caught.
Looking around, I found a dirty towel on the floor, so I shoved it in the window to prop it open should Jaculi need to return.
The alcoves were narrow, just a hole in the wall with a stool and a cloth hamper.
A small shelf hung off the wall with various oils for your skin and bath.
Uncomfortable with stripping down, I nonetheless did so, grasping at the clean towel the bath boy handed to me after his eyes flared seeing the red groin bush.
Keeping my bald head down, I eased out of the changing room and sat on the edge of one of the baths, paddling my feet slowly in the hot water as the locals sat about gossiping.
I ran a finger over one of several glass bottles of scented oils beside the pool.
Each hot bath had a variety of small colored bottles lined up in a neat row.
Killa was nowhere to be seen, so I lingered about, picking up bits and bobs of information.
Most dealing with the arrival of a ship called the Cloud’s Shame and the rather well-liked captain.
It was rumored to be coming off a successful run after avoiding a newly crafted Melowynn naval ship within a sennight.
How the people knew of this, I had no clue, but they raved about the handsome captain at the helm of the famed pirate ship. I made a note to visit the docks daily.
Gossip flowed like the water from the heated springs somewhere below the quay.
Most of it was meaningless to me, so I moved on, gathering my clothes and dragon, to the next public house.
And the next and the next. Five passes of the sun and moon sisters, I spent sitting in brothels, rum houses, and a haberdasher that did business hand over fist, selling stolen clothes, boots, and hats to just-paid privateers.
Grimy and slim, I was paid little attention.
I played the part of being a beggar well, for I knew how one behaved when one was poor and hungry.
After five days of sleeping on roofs with my raven or behind whorehouses, my stench was offending not only me but that wyrmling curled around my middle.
Seems the stench inside my undershirt was appalling.
That was a truth I could not deny so late on that fifth night, after the bathhouse song and dance, I slipped into the now quiet bathhouse.
I tossed a copper to the young mat boy as I entered the changing room.
He gave me a nod then left as if a demon were gnawing on his arse. I peeled my clothes off, dug out something clean—or cleanish—then grabbed a bar of soap wrapped in a hankie. The same soap I had bathed in before going to Asdren to slake that wild need only he brought forth.
With a shudder of longing, I slipped into the public area.
The baths were empty. Not surprising it was well after the time all the pubs that closed at all had shut their doors.
I had little to go on other than the rumors of a handsome captain heading home to Quinn’s Quay with a heavy cargo.
After a quick glance to ensure the proprietress was not here, I dropped the drying towel and slid into the water with a sigh.
My shoulders sank into the water. My head fell back to rest on the smooth stone rim.
This small respite from scouring the town for any mention of the king’s half-brother had been exasperating and exhausting.
I had known this would be difficult. Pirates and bandits were famously close-mouthed.
Still, I would keep at it, for that was my assignment, and I had given up something precious to see my job done.
Eyes drifting shut, I let the memories of my time with Asdren play in my mind like that theatrical troupe that had come to the castle to perform for the king and his family.
They had made the court cry at the end of their drama about an elven princess cursed by a wood witch to wander the Glotte woodlands as a wraith for eternity just for taking the witch’s old slippers.
Steam mingled with a few tears as I let the emotions I had held in for so long begin to—
“What the fuck did you do to your hair, Vol’ka Dor?”