Chapter 15 Stone and Saga #2
The abandonment filtered in. Esme’s lies. Wilder’s early departure. Laxius’s weakness. Shioven.
Jesstin was there too. She’d tried to steer herself away from the memories of all the ways he’d made her whole, and to do so, she’d pounded into her head that he’d murdered her brother.
It was still hard to believe. She did her best to remember how erratic he’d been that night in the swamp, to remember his tenderness and vulnerability were a fiction, but nothing, nothing had ever hurt more.
Elloven pinched both of her legs, spreading her efforts over the sides and backs of her thighs, until all she could think about was stopping.
She ran to the water bucket, scooped a mug, and drained it down her throat, then did it once more. The empty cup toppled over when she leaned against the counter.
Her apartment suddenly felt too small to contain her. She had to get out, to run until she couldn’t.
Elloven whipped her cloak from the stand and left.
“Archie, the shipment of bitters?” Jesstin sidled up to the bar, where his foreman was stacking mugs for the evening rush. They expected a packed house that night, with a foot of snow already coating the ground. Nothing brought men to a tavern more urgently than roads they shouldn’t be traveling.
“Delayed another day, I’m afraid.” Archie dried his hands and bent over, dragging another keg toward Jesstin. “But we got this. You order it?”
Jesstin knelt to read the label, a burned-in embossment. “North Crag Cider.” He looked up at Archie. “Never even heard of it. Where did it come from?”
Archie shrugged. “Arrived with the shipment from Greenfen. Mayhap they threw it in as a sample. Have you ever tasted cider?”
Jesstin stared at the barrel. Cider was more of a Northerlands tradition, not often seen in their neck of the Easterlands. “Yes,” he said shortly. It was another sign of Elloven, and they seemed to be everywhere, haunting him more resolutely than Gennady had.
“Shall I serve it tonight?”
Jesstin stood and shrugged. “Sure. They don’t like it, we toss it. They do, we order more.”
“I want room twelve tonight, Jessie!” A vivacious blonde blew a two-handed kiss and spun as she passed by in a rush without looking back.
“You know the other ladies always want room twelve too, right?” Archie said with a pointed glance at Jesstin. “Don’t look at me like that. Everyone else believes it’s lucky, so it is.”
“Superstition is for crones and fishwives.” Jesstin sifted through the stack of invoices beside the ledger, verifying their shipments were covered for the week. “The room does rake in the most coin though. Will you run it by the guild leader?”
“You’re figuring some sort of rotation for the ladies, keep it fair?” Archie asked.
“I’m figuring the point of a guild is to tell us what’s fair.”
The Golden Spiral wasn’t like the other taverns along Peddler’s Row in Mythgarde, or even the alleyway haunts.
Both of its most unique attributes—open across all hours, the workers having rights and protections—formed the foundation of what Jesstin had decided to build anew when he’d purchased the property that had once been the Azure.
The midnight women at the Spiral were independent workers.
They’d banded together and created a guild for their trade, the first of its kind, and he’d been their primary patron.
He was happy to support better rights and pay.
It meant the women working for him were there because they wanted to be, and not because they couldn’t get different work for better pay.
“You know, the other proprietors, they’re yapping again.
” Archie delivered this with the same unease Jesstin remembered from the old days of running the Azure Haunt.
Even the slightest provocation or insinuation used to set Jesstin on a tirade, if his workers caught him in the wrong place, time, or mood.
He’d been surprised when Archie had agreed to come out of retirement to work for him again—or his “son,” as everyone knew him.
“About?” Jesstin was still searching the list and was about to channel his old self until he found the two items he was looking for.
He hadn’t the slightest how they were used, but the women had said they would improve hygiene and protect them from the filth the less prudent men spread around the brothels, and he’d just had to take them at their word on it.
“Same as always. Your speeches in the square. All the... frivolousness you afford our girls.”
“They’re women. We don’t hire girls,” Jesstin said, “and would you tell your wife a lock on the door or a proper winter coat are ‘frivolous’?’”
“Ain’t me disagreeing.” Archie held up his hands to reinforce himself. “I always thought the gi—women deserved better. High time they’re paid properly for it as well.”
Jesstin laid the papers back on the bar. “What are they saying that you do agree with?”
“None of it.” Archie straightened in offense. “But it’s my job to keep you informed. That’s what you said when you asked me to come back. ‘Archie, I need eyes and ears where I can’t be.’”
“And?” Jesstin had used Raegnar for his spycraft in the past, but the man had been gone five years, according to his family.
He’d earned a head injury in a melee with a rowdy customer and passed in his sleep.
Two of Raegnar’s sons minded the security of the Spiral, but the clientele this time around was far less unruly.
It was easier to have Archie, well-respected by everyone in Mythgarde, play both conciliator and mole.
“The other women, they’re talking about wanting their own guild, like yours have.”
“Yes. They should, Archie. Their labor sustains the Row.”
“And the guild threatens their bosses.”
Jesstin appreciated the irony of his two eras.
He’d always been liked, or at least tolerated, by his workers, but while the past version of himself had been popular with his peers, the new one was an unwelcome disruptor.
He believed in everything he was supporting, but it came with the bonus of watching greedy men shit their drawers over the idea of even slightly lighter coffers.
“Their bosses can fuck themselves instead of their workers for once. They lay a hand on one of their women, they threaten them, you send those women to me. We’ll take care of them.”
“We already have more than we need, with how you keep taking them in. Our morning hours would need to be just as busy as the evenings if we’re to have enough work for them.”
“The more we have to offer, the more patrons will come.” Jesstin tapped his temple. “I do understand how math works, Arch.”
Archie had a point though. Jesstin had taken on any woman in need of work, and not just as entertainment.
All his barkeeps were women. The cleaners were women.
The cooks were women. His accountant was a woman, and though his solicitor was a man, it was the female clerk Jesstin dealt with directly.
And yes, he had hired more than a few midnight women who’d shown up after a problem with their employer, but if Archie, or anyone, was looking for him to admit it was a poor business decision, they’d be waiting more years than they had left to them.
Jesstin’s overzealousness wasn’t willful blindness though.
He had a plan. He’d put an offer on the tavern across the road as soon as he’d heard the proprietor was retiring.
He had eyes on the Ivory Virtue as well, which had been struggling to turn a profit in recent years.
A couple others had caught his eye, and he’d put it out there he was interested.
He’d buy up the whole fucking Row if circumstances aligned, and he was quite keen to see them align.
“Send word to Garvey. He owes me an update,” Jesstin said.
“Your solicitor?”
“Is there another Garvey?”
“He usually sends Ms. Cole in his stead.”
“And?”
Archie was burning to ask more, but he wouldn’t press. He rarely did. “Right away.”
Jesstin still had two hours or so before the tavern filled. That was all he’d need. But he couldn’t leave the boy alone upstairs either, and Sesto had only just arrived with Daire after an eventful midwinter journey.
“Agatha!” Jesstin called as another of the women walked past. She turned with a pin between her teeth. Both hands clutched the top of her damaged corset for dear life. “What time are you on tonight?”
“I’m off, remember?” She huffed a frustrated grunt. “Come here, would you?”
Jesstin went for the pin, but she nodded at the torn seam. He grabbed both sides, holding it in place while she stitched. “There are easier ways to mend something than while wearing it.”
“That’s what you’re for,” Agatha declared and tapped the tip of his nose. “Now, what is it?”
“Do you have plans tonight?”
She slithered her tongue over her teeth with a suggestive, playful grin. “Didn’t think you partook, boss.”
Jesstin rolled his eyes. “Does that mean you’re free?”
She tilted her head as if to say it depends.
“Keep an eye on the boy for me? Not for long. I’ll be back before the rush.” Expecting a rebuttal, he said, “I’ll pay your rate, Ag.”
She grinned. “As of tonight, it’s gone up.”
Jesstin laughed. “Just send me the tab.”
When Jesstin set out, he’d intended to visit his usual haunt.
Three, four times a week, just as dusk was settling, he’d take up a spot on the east hill overlooking the Hermitage and wait for a sighting of his family.
It was how he’d learned Asterin had taken up gardening in his elder years and that Rhiain liked to ride every evening before supper.
Their children joined them about once a week, and he’d always think of them that way, despite that they all had children of their own.