Best Served Cold

One of the women swept past, her ruffled dress swishing against the Gurkish carpet, one long, bare leg sliding out from the blackness with each step. Two hundred and… His eyes seemed glued to that leg, his heart beating very fast. Two hundred and… twenty-six. He jerked his eyes away and back to the dice.

Three and two. Utterly normal, and nothing to worry about. He straightened, and stood waiting. Outside the window, in the courtyard, the guests were beginning to arrive.

– 

W elcome, my friends, welcome to Cardotti’s! We have everything a growing boy needs! Dice and cards, games of skill and chance are this way! For those who relish the embrace of mother husk, that door! Wine and spirits on demand. Drink deep, my friends! There will be various entertainments mounted here in the yard throughout the evening! Dancing, juggling, music… even perhaps a little violence, for those with a taste for blood! As for female companionship, well… that you will find throughout the building…”

Men were pouring into the courtyard in a masked and powdered flow. The place was already heaving with expensively tailored bodies, the air thick with their braying chatter. The band were sawing out a merry tune in one corner of the yard, the jugglers flinging a stream of sparkling glasses high into the air in another. Occasionally one of the women would strut through, whisper to someone, lead him away into the building. And upstairs, no doubt. Cosca could not help wondering… could he be spared for a few moments?

“Quite utterly charmed,” he murmured, tipping his hat at a willowy blonde as she swayed past.

“Stick to the guests!” she snarled viciously in his face.

“Only trying to lift the mood, my dear. Only trying to help.”

“You want to help, you can suck a prick or two! I’ve enough to get through!” Someone touched her on the shoulder and she turned, smiling radiantly, took him by the arm and swept away.

“Who are all these bastards?” Shivers, muttering in his ear. “Three or four dozen, weren’t we told, a few armed but not keen to fight? There must be twice that many in already!”

Cosca grinned as he clapped the Northman on the shoulder. “I know! Isn’t it a thrill when you throw a party and you get more guests than you expected? Somebody’s popular!”

Shivers did not look amused. “I don’t reckon it’s us! How do we keep control of all this?”

“What makes you think I have the answers? In my experience, life rarely turns out the way you expect. We must bend with the circumstances, and simply do our best.”

“Maybe six guards, weren’t we told? So who are they?” The Northman jerked his head towards a grim-looking knot of men gathered in one corner, all with polished breastplates over their padded black jackets, with serious masks of plain steel, serious swords and long knives at their hips, serious frowns on their chiselled jaws. Their eyes darted carefully about the yard as though looking for threats.

“Hmmm,” mused Cosca. “I was wondering the same thing.”

“Wondering?” The Northman’s big fist was uncomfortably tight round Cosca’s arm. “When does wondering turn into shitting yourself?”

“I’ve often wondered.” Cosca peeled the hand away. “But it’s a funny thing. I simply don’t get scared.” He made off through the crowd, clapping backs, calling for drinks, pointing out attractions, spreading good humour wherever he went. He was in his element, now. Vice, and high living, but danger too.

He feared old age, failure, betrayal and looking a fool. Yet he never feared before a fight. Cosca’s happiest moments had been spent waiting for battles to begin. Watching the countless Gurkish march upon the walls of Dagoska. Watching the forces of Sipani deploy before the Battle of the Isles. Scrambling onto his horse by moonlight when the enemy sallied from the walls of Muris. Danger was the thing he most enjoyed. Worries for the future, purged. Failures of the past, erased. Only the glorious now remained. He closed his eyes and sucked in air, felt it tingling pleasantly in his chest, heard the excited babbling of the guests. He scarcely even felt the need for a drink anymore.

He snapped his eyes open to see two men stepping through the gate, others scraping away to make grovelling room for them. His Highness Prince Ario was dressed in a scarlet coat, silken cuffs drooping from his embroidered sleeves in a manner that implied he would never have to grip anything for himself. A spray of multicoloured feathers sprouted from the top of his golden mask, thrashing like a peacock’s tail as he looked about him, unimpressed.

“Your Highness!” Cosca swept off his hat and bowed low. “We are truly, truly honoured by your presence.”