Babylon Steel (2 page)

I slammed a pawn down at random. “Yeah, I will.
I
don’t say, ‘the gods made me do it.’”

“I know you don’t. Trust me, if they break the law,
provably
, they’ll be in as much trouble as anyone else. Just tell your people to be careful.”

“Right.” Just then something skittered past my foot, and I stamped out, making Bitternut jump.

“What?”

“Beetle.” I ground the thing underfoot.

“Hah. There’s me thinking you were scared of nothing.”

“I hate beetles.”

Bitternut stood up. “I have to go, gorgeous.” He looked at the chessboard and shook his head. “Work on your strategy. Read some military campaigns.”

I made a face. I’ve seen war; books don’t carry the stink.

“You take care of yourself, Chief.”

“Always.”

“Laney’s been asking after you,” I said, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“The lovely Laney, eh?” He gave me that melancholy grin. “Maybe I’ll drop by again before Twomoon. See you, Babylon.”

He nodded to Flower, who was filling the doorway, and left.

Flower’s one of the few creatures I know who makes
me
feel fragile. He’s huge. And green. A nice green, like polished jade. I don’t know what his life was before he turned up on my doorstep; but he was wearing a slave-cuff on one ankle, and he had a lot of scars.

Flower handed me the glass of wine he was holding; it looked breakable in his big green hand. “You may need this.”

“Flower, you’re a treasure.”

He grinned. That’s quite a sight in itself; he’s a tusky sort. He’s one of my favourite people, is Flower. We call him that partly because no-one can pronounce his name, which is all glottal stops and consonants, but mainly because he’s such a sweetie. Just the sight of him will usually calm down the most rambunctious of punters, but he’s the gentlest creature in the planes, and one hell of a cook to boot.

I took a sip of the wine. “How did you know? Did the Chief tell you?”

“About that girl? Yes. But that wasn’t why.”

“Oh?”

“Visitor.”

If Flower brought me a glass of wine for every visitor we got I’d never be sober. “Tell me,” I said.

“Darask Fain.”

I almost choked on my drink.

TIRESANA

I
WAS A
bag-child. An unwanted baby, hung on a door in a linen bag, in the hope that the family inside the prosperous-looking house would be generous. It was hard times on Tiresana, and a lot of babies ended up in the river, or left in the desert for the wild dogs to find.

Philla, the master’s daughter, was on her way downstairs when the head servant found the wriggling, bawling bag; nothing in it but me, wrapped in undyed linen, and a few chips of white marble. Philla was fifteen, sentimental, taken with babies. She begged for me as if I were a puppy. Her parents saw no reason why the servants shouldn’t look after a baby, so long as it didn’t interfere with their duties; they’d get a trained house-servant out of it, eventually.

Philla named me Ebi, after the little desert cats.

It was a stable household and servants were rarely dismissed; the master and mistress liked familiar people about, who knew their ways. For the rest of the servants, I was mainly extra work on the whim of a silly girl, who came to the kitchens to play with me when I was tiny, but lost interest quickly as I grew.

I remember the stone-flagged floor; a bone spoon for a toy. I remember Philla, a little – mainly as long clean hair and a scent of jasmine. When she left the house on her marriage, she left the bag I’d been found in to be given to me when I was old enough not to lose it. I was ten or so when someone remembered, and it was the only thing I’d ever owned apart from the clothes I stood in. It was nothing much, a stained linen bag and a few chips of white stone, but I kept it by me. As though there were another life somewhere, and that bag was the key.

CHAPTER TWO

D
ARASK
F
AIN.
H
E’S
never been a client, but I’ve heard of him; everyone has, somehow. He moves between the different levels of society smooth as a dancer, but he always seems to skate the surface; runs a gambling den called the Singing Bird, and has a reputation for being a very dangerous man with his fingers in a lot of pies. That sort of client can be an asset, or a major liability.

He’s also the most devastating thing on two legs in Scalentine.

Flower had shown him into the red room (the one we call ‘Punters’ Parlour’ among ourselves). It has red divans with masses of cushions in all the shades of a rose garden, (including pink and yellow – Laney’s choice – you wouldn’t think it would work, but it does), and some pictures. Sexy pictures, but subtle; I don’t like paintings that look like an instruction manual, and they can have the opposite effect to what’s intended.

The red room’s the biggest room we have, but it was verging on packed. There were two other punters: one was a new face, young and nervous-looking, the other was an elderly and delightful clockmaker who turned up mainly to reminisce about his wild younger days with whoever was prepared to sit around with very few clothes on and listen, though he could still be pretty sprightly when the mood took him.

The rest of the crowd was made up of the crew. Laney, in three wisps of green silk that matched her eyes, was perching on the arm of the clockmaker’s chair, gesturing extravagantly as she pretended to believe some outrageous story, and everyone else was either offering Fain a drink, plying him with food, or just gawping. Essie, a curvy, pretty creature with dark curls and cinnamon freckles, was holding out a plate of pastries, Jivrais was pouring a large glass of the really
good
wine, and Ireq was leaning against the wall, watching. Flower was in the kitchen, but the Twins were hovering, and they didn’t usually pay much attention to what they called the ‘prose punters.’ No-one was paying any mind to the new lad.
Not
good. I was going to have to do some dressing down.

Hard to blame them, though, when you saw Fain.

He was seated on one of the sofas, with a glass in his hand and a plate of pastries at his elbow. I have rosy-shaded lamps in there; they give a rich, flattering light. Fain didn’t need it: with those dark eyes, high cheekbones and glossy black hair, he would look good under a noonday sun. Unlike some new clients, he looked utterly at ease.

This all went through my head in less than a moment. Fain had spotted me as soon as I walked in, and stood up. Everyone else did too, even the clockmaker.

It made me nervous. It’s been a long time since people did that when I entered a room.

“Madam Steel.”

“Mr Fain. I hope you’re being looked after?”

“Quite charmingly. But I wonder if I might beg the privilege of a private word with you?” He had a voice like velvet-clad fingers running down one’s naked back.

“Certainly. I’ll be with you in just a moment.” I held out my hand to the young lad, who bent over it and stammered something about it being an honour. “I just came to... I mean I thought... I’m terribly sorry...”

I managed to get out of him what it was he was after, and sent him off with Ireq, an ex-soldier. Ireq had sleek grey fur and rich brown eyes, and the fact that he had one arm missing below the elbow didn’t seem to hamper his popularity and might actually have enhanced his inventiveness. He was taciturn to the point of near muteness, but lots of people seemed to like that. He’d know how to deal with the boy’s nerves. I ordered everyone else back to their duties, sharply enough to let them know I was peeved, and took Fain into the blue parlour, aware of more than a few envious looks directed at me as I went.

“This is an unexpected pleasure,” I said.

He settled himself into a chair like a cat into a sunbeam. “You run a very pleasant house, Babylon. I’m already regretting that I haven’t been here before.”

“Now you are, what can I do for you, Mr Fain?” I had several ideas in mind, and they were getting more extravagant by the moment.

“I am prepared to offer you a large sum of money in return for a certain service I believe you may be able to perform for me.”

That put me on edge. I didn’t know enough about Fain to guess what his personal tastes might be, but if he was prepared to offer much over the going rate, it had to be something a bit out of the ordinary. And though the motto of the House is ‘All tastes, all species, all forms of currency,’ there are tastes we don’t cater for. Anyone who prefers an unwilling partner, or one too young, had better not step through my door. Anything resulting in permanent injury and such, we don’t do; and we insist on taking measures to protect ourselves. Disease is not a problem on Scalentine the way it is elsewhere, because of the peculiar nature of the place; but pregnancy is. At least, for some of us. Fain was not a man I wanted to antagonise, but I have principles. That may be why I’m often broke.

I sat down, arranged myself in an encouraging posture, and waited. Not for long.

“Someone has gone missing. I’d like you to look for her.”

I managed to shut my mouth, eventually. “I’m sorry, what?”

“A young woman – a stranger to the city – has disappeared. I am extremely concerned for her welfare.”

I was thoroughly bemused, not to mention pretty disappointed. “Why me?” I said. “This isn’t the kind of request I usually get.” I wasn’t entirely able to keep the regret out of my voice.

“Because I think you have the qualities I am looking for. I’d know better if you came to the club, of course...”

“Gambling’s not really my game.”

“But I suspect you’d be rather good, if you decided to take it up.”

“I’m not sure about that. I think it requires a level of concentration that’s beyond me. Besides, I’m not good at numbers.”

“But judging by what I’ve heard, you’re good at people. Often, that’s all that is required.”

“You must be pretty good at people yourself.” Somehow that had come out sounding a lot more inviting than I intended. Ye gods and little fishes, I was practically
purring.

It had to be the voice. No-one should be allowed to look that good
and
have a voice like that. It eased past the brain and curled itself right around the privates.

I dragged my concentration back into my head. “Anyway, this girl. What qualities have
I
got? Why not go to the militia?”

“I believe you can talk to people who won’t talk to the militia. The last Chief left a long shadow.”

The Chief before Bitternut had been a nasty little pusbag; corrupt as a dead dog in high summer. It made the new Chief’s job harder than it needed to be. I still heard stories from some of the other whores. A lot of them come to me when they fancy a bit of advice or a gossip. Them and ex-soldiery.

“But still,” I said, “why me?”

“You need the money.”

That acted on me like a dash of cold water. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “I
do
run a gambling house, Madam Steel. I know when someone’s overstretched.”

The fact that he was right didn’t make me any happier about him knowing, and I wasn’t sure I believed his explanation, either. We kept the place in good order. Maybe someone had been gossiping with a client, and word had got out. Discretion, or lack of it, works both ways.

Still, he
was
right. “So who is this girl and why are
you
looking for her?”

Fain leaned forward, and I could smell his scent; a mix of clean male, and something dark and woodsy. I was increasingly aware that I really didn’t trust him and that I was having a damn hard time keeping my hands off him anyway. I tried to concentrate on listening to his words, rather than watching his mouth.

“She’s the daughter of people I want to keep happy. If I can find her for them they will be extremely, not to say lucratively, grateful. I’m prepared to invest against the possible returns.”

“How much?”

He told me. I swallowed hard.

It was a lot of money. It would certainly keep the tax office quiet; it might even pay Laney’s clothier’s bill as well. We had a good reputation and generous clients, but we were picky and planned to remain so. Unfortunately that can thin the coffers no end.

“What sort of business are her people in?” I said.

“Does it matter?”

“It might.”

He sighed. “They’re not precisely in business. They’re more... government. They are, however, highly influential and helping them out could be extremely advantageous for us both.”

“Government where?”

“Incandress.”

“Oh.” It sounded vaguely familiar; it might have been one of the places I passed through on my way to Scalentine, but then, there had been a lot of those.

“It’s a satrapy of the Perindi Empire. The Ikinchli come from there.”

“They do?” There are quite a few Ikinchli in Scalentine, and I knew at least one of them pretty well. “This girl’s not Ikinchli, though?”

“No.” Fain rummaged in a pocket and held something out to me. “They call themselves Gudain.”

It was a gold locket. Not exactly the most delicate thing; it weighed so heavy in my hand I could probably have brained someone with it, and it was thick with scrollwork, curlicues and turquoise cabochons. I flipped the catch with my nail.

Inside was a portrait. It looked to me like the sort of thing that gets done by a court painter, so only the All knows how accurate it was. But she was a pretty creature, humanlike, with thick, straight, greeny-gold hair, skin with a seawater sheen, and astonishing eyes, huge and brilliant yellow. I’d never seen eyes like that on a human, but they touched some memory in me. Not the colour, but the look.

“She was visiting Scalentine with her family,” Fain said, “and the family of her betrothed. I believe they were here to buy... something or other. Some frivolity, jewellery perhaps, to do with the forthcoming wedding.”

That actually made a certain amount of sense. Scalentine being the way it is, we do have things here from all over the place.