Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) (48 page)

If she had been sitting at a proper desk instead of a
corner table, he would assume her simply to be the brothel’s version of the
clerks who worked in the Kings’ records office.  That seemed incorrect, though.

Well then, what about this Madam Vashti?  An unusual
name, certainly.  At a guess, it sounded Gustur, or maybe from Vyajion.  His
curiosity aside, it would likely be best not to ask.  Those two kingdoms might
be neighbors across the Stygan Gulf, but they hated each other with a passion. 
Mentioning either could very well offend this lady.  Such would likely be an unwise
move.

That was another matter.  Perhaps it stemmed from
spending too much time within the male-dominated Kingshome, but whenever he
formed these mental pictures of the world lately, he always envisioned a man
being in charge.  Strange how much an outlook could change without him
realizing it.  Back in Tattersfield, many of the most successful townsfolk were
women.  Minta had always been the largest merchant/trader in town.  As far as
he knew, no one had ever gotten the best of her in a deal.

Despite that, he had spent the entire morning walk
pondering the best way to talk to the man in charge of the Standing Spell,
never once considering it might not be.  He had no experience with brothels. 
From the stories, he’d always thought they were a place no woman would ever
wish to fall to.  A woman owning one?  And running it?  That ran sideways to
his views of the world.

With that thought, an image rose in his memories.  It
was Hilliard, standing in the backyard of a roadside inn, watching Dietrik so
intently one might think the young man wanted to dissect the mercenary with his
eyes alone.  Marik had never relinquished his belief that the noble was
slightly a fool in that aspect.  His confusion that anyone could wield a sword
effectively without having undergone instruction from a proper swordmaster had
only been further proof that the nobles lived in an imaginary world, their eyes
shut tight to the reality outside their tea parlors.

What had Dietrik said that first time? 
He has
spent his entire life behind walls, taught about the world by whichever
scholars his father or the duke had on hand.
  Was he so different?  Marik
had never lived in a palace…and yet perhaps he’d lived behind walls all the
same.  Walls formed of inexperience, growing from his isolation first within
Tattersfield, then within Kingshome.  No bevy of scholars waited to teach him
about the world as they believed it should be.  His knowledge of the outside
came through people he met, minstrels singing their songs and hardheaded folk
who had gone no further into the world than he’d ever been.  In both cases,
were not his and Hilliard’s views born and shaped by other people rather than
personal experience?

Dietrik had said more too, hadn’t he? 
I’m sure he
will gradually learn the difference between theory and fact as time moves on.

Marik laughed bitterly.  Perhaps he was the one
learning the difference between reality and preconceptions.  Wasn’t that a
joke?  After all his efforts to grow into an independent man, in so many ways
he was still the child he had thought to leave behind.

A woman passing by in the hallway looked at him before
continuing on.  He winced inwardly. 
Every woman in here a beauty, and
they’ll be wondering why a man sitting alone in an open room is laughing like a
moonstruck loon.
  Marik might be in a bear trap, but he never enjoyed
looking a fool to anyone.

He jerked out of his thoughts when he realized an
argument raged nearby.  The words were indistinct yet the angry tone suggested
it could be nothing else.  Well, he had succeeded in taking his mind off
Corissa’s charms…and also managed to blot out everything else around him at the
same time. 
I hope this doesn’t turn out to be a viper pit, because I’m
not
together today.  Must be all this perfume.

Whatever the two women were arguing about, they were
close by.  They refrained from screeching or being particularly voluble. 
Still, their opinions differed enough to be heard from where Marik sat.  The
argument stopped, apparently in mid-sentence, and footsteps marching down the hallway
followed.

Marik recognized her in a flash when she strode past
the door.  The woman he had spoken with last night at Sestion’s manner.  She
also glanced into the room.  Not out of any interest for what may lay inside,
Marik sensed, but out of habit.  Certainly she did not expect to see him.  When
the doorframe blotted out half her body, she came to a startled halt before
back-stepping to stand in the frame.

Deepest irritation marred her radiant features, or
would have if anything in the entire world could dampen her beauty.  “Damn it,
persistence in a man can be cute, but stalking is altogether different!”

“W-what?”  Marik’s brain, finally almost under
control, spun away in a confused spiral.  It amazed him!  He
had
encountered
this vision again!  So amazed that little room remained in his head for much
else.  A rhythmic beating in his ears sounded as his heart pumped harder.  She
continued glaring at him with an expression he, even in his muddled state,
could tell fell short of enthusiasm.  But a clever reply might clear up the
situation!  “Uh…what?”

“That’s the problem with men.  They never hear unless
it’s what they wanted to hear.”  She speared him with her cold gaze.  “So you
better listen this time.  Go away and leave me alone!”

“But I’m not—”

“I suppose you asked Ferdinand how to find me?”

“Yes, but—”

“Wasn’t the fact that you were less interesting than
my book enough to point out the obvious?”

“That’s not what—”

“Who is this, Ilona?”

A second woman approached behind Marik’s accuser. 
Older, in her late thirties or mid-forties, he guessed.  Her skin shone a deep
brown, as though she spent all her time under the blazing sun.  Except one look
was all it took for Marik to know it was her natural color, thus confirming his
suspicions on her origins.  This could only be the Madam Vashti.

She wore a minimum of makeup, and wore it well. 
Carefully applied, it accentuated her attractive features without standing out
like a horse in a cattle herd.  Her wavy, rippling black hair fell across her
shoulders with as many dips and troughs as Ilona’s.

“
This—
” Ilona started, but Marik frantically
cut her off.

“Good morning, Madam Vashti,” he greeted loudly,
drowning out Ilona’s attempt to label him a stalker.  “I serve a young noble by
the name of Hilliard Garroway, attacked last night in the home of Ferdinand
Sestion.”

He paused to continue, except Vashti, comprehension
lighting her face, replied first.  “Oh, I see.  Ilona,” she glanced aside, “and
I were only just discussing that very matter.”  Her words were accented by a
dulcet enunciation of hard vowels that Marik primarily associated with
Gusturief.

“Yes,” he agreed, as though he knew what that meant. 
Marik’s gaze had followed the madam’s and was tracing the soft angles of
Ilona’s features.  His mouth, experiencing a period of separation from his
brain, continued on of its own accord.  “I came to talk to you about that woman
who attack Hilliard.  I wanted to learn whatever you could tell me about her.”

“As would I,” Vashti countered.  “She only joined my
employ very recently.”

Ilona stared coldly back at him.  It jolted Marik into
the awareness that he nearly stared her straight in the eye.  “Huh?”  He
furiously replayed the last few moments, realizing what Vashti had said.  And
what he had blurted. 
Damn it!  Well, no hope for it any longer but to play
it to the end.
  “Truly?  How long ago was that?”

Vashti raised a thin finger to her chin in thought. 
Though much older, Marik could hardly help but think her beauty rivaled
Ilona’s.  “I do not hire new women often, Mr…I’m sorry.  Did I miss your name?”

“Oh, no.  I’m sorry.  I am Marik Railson.” 
Reflexively, he offered his hand before stopping. 
That’s a man’s greeting,
idiot!  Aren’t you supposed to bow to a woman?

Vashti offered no hesitation in grasping his hand with
her own.  Her touch was firm, her skin cool against his. 
Well that’s no
surprise.  I think I might be sweating enough to head the Varmeese River. 
He
glanced toward Ilona, faint hope rising in his chest.  She showed no interest
in touching his hand.

“As I said, I do not hire new women to work for me on
a spur of the moment.  Were you aware of that?”

“No, madam, I was not.”  He forced his eyes to remain
on Vashti, which did not prove to be so difficult a challenge at all.

“Though I am sure you are aware of our reputation.  We
are a well respected gentleman’s club, and our clientele are among the high end
of Thoenar’s society.”

“Club?  I thought it was a br—”  He stopped himself
with a visible mental slap. 
Why not call her a whore, too?

Vashti took no offense, fortunately.  “Such services
are part of the wide range we provide.  That is no secret.  Yet our reputation
is that we are ladies any highly placed man may appear with in public without
shame.  Our reputation is one of the best in the city, so I must take care with
the women I choose to hire.”

Marik nodded. 
This
at least was something he
understood completely.  Gold held little value when compared to the Crimson
Kings’ reputation.  If their reputation ever suffered, the entire band might
fold.  “So you check your women’s backgrounds first?  What did you find on this
one?”

The madam smiled sadly.  “I never hire anyone I
haven’t known for a period of time beforehand.  That is how I come to know the
women I take on.  I
usually
never hire anyone I don’t know.”

Hopes sinking, Marik saw where that led.  “You skipped
that for her?”

Ilona, having spent the time glaring at Marik, shot
out, “What do you care about it?  You’re master is still alive and the guards
have the bitch
assassin
!”  The venom startled Marik momentarily.  “Count
your stars as lucky and quit on it!”

He meant to say ‘
Because she targeted Hilliard
specifically’. 
What came out was, “Because they targeted Hilliard
before.” 
Nice
, he berated his mouth when he heard the words, but then
his attention diverted to watching her lips purse into a near perfect O.

“Then I have additional questions,” Vashti said,
reclaiming his attention.  “She came to me only short of two eightdays gone.  I
had never met with her before.  I would have sent her away had she not come
from one of our oldest clients with a request that I find a place for her.”

Two eightdays ago?  That would be right after the
attack on the chapter house!
  But
that made no sense.  How could they have foreseen Hilliard would be anywhere
near the Standing Spell’s women?  “That seems…unusual.”

“It is not the first time we have done a similar favor
for a preferred client.”  Vashti offered no elaboration.  “She bore a letter,
and I met with him later that afternoon.  Only then did I accept her into the
Spell.  Presently, of course, I wish I had done otherwise.”

“But this, uh, client must have told you about her
background, didn’t he?  And how did he know her?  She was a professional, no
blind fool a stranger convinced to do the job for quick coin.”

“He gave me nothing of her history.  That, too, is
normal.  Women who hide in an establishment such as ours with the help of the
noble-born usually have troubling pasts.  Both for them and their patron.”

“Still, this is too coincidental for me.  I realize
you might not want to tell me who, but I think I need to talk to this old
client of yours.”

Before Vashti could say yes or no, Ilona exploded with
exasperation.  “You don’t need to talk to anyone!  You are not cityguard and
you are not a magistrate!  What makes you think you’d be allowed through the
front gate, let alone see the owner?”

Marik felt the burn crawl through his face.  He
refused to allow his mind to be addled by the delicate line of her neck as she
stretched her head forward to pinion him.  “It is my business to protect
Hilliard.  I
do
need to talk to this noble because I need to get to the
bottom of these attacks!  If he knows where she came from, then I need to know
it too!”

Ilona ignored all that.  “An assassin placed inside
our house is
our
business!  I am perfectly capable of dealing with my
problems, and I need no help from you!”

“The assassin might by your business, but the
assassin’s employer is mine!”

Vashti followed the remarks back and forth, her head
swiveling as though she watched children tossing a ball.  She also noticed how
Marik’s eyes kept darting from Ilona’s face to other regions on her person. 
Smiling slightly, she interrupted the argument.  “Ilona, in light of Mr.
Railson’s concerns, I think it might be appropriate if he accompany you to
Daniel’s.”

Ilona whirled.  “What?  Mother, I don’t need anyone’s
help!”

Mother?
 
Amazed, Marik studied the two.  Identical hair, certainly, as was their beauty,
but the skin…Ilona’s was nearly light as his own.  How could that have
happened?