The Ambassador's Mission

It has changed so much, Dannyl thought. Where a shambles of makeshift building had been now neat brick houses stood. He knew there were still areas of the slums that were dirty and dangerous, but once the Purge had stopped it had quickly become apparent that the yearly forced exodus had hampered the expansion of the city as much as it had restricted access to it by the poor.

And the poor not only had access to the city, but could join the Guild as well – if they had strong enough magical ability. The wealth that came with such a privilege had lifted more than a few families out of poverty, though the influx of entrants from poor and servant classes had caused some troubles for the Guild.

Like this recent mess in which magicians and novices of the higher classes had been found in a roet and gambling house run by smugglers, but claimed to have been given directions to the place by the “lowies.” What was most disturbing was that this house had been found hidden down an alley in the Inner Circle, which had always been thought to be free of such bad establishments. And it hadn’t been all that far from Dannyl and Tayend’s home.

But that was someone else’s concern now. As the carriage moved past the last of the houses and out onto the North Road, Dannyl nodded to himself. His and Lorkin’s future lay ahead of them, in the ancient land of Sachaka.

The Good Company was one of the largest bolhouses in the south of the city. As Cery and Gol walked in, they were buffeted by the heat of bodies, roar of voices and rich, sweet scent of bol. Men outnumbered women, both standing at tables fixed to the floor. There were no chairs. Chairs did not last long. The brawls that broke out here were famous throughout the city, though by the time the stories reached Northside they’d been embellished well beyond physical possibilities.

Making his way through the crowd, Cery took in the atmosphere and noted the clientele without looking at anyone long enough to draw attention. Near the back of the huge room were doorways. These led downstairs to the basement, where a different sort of company was for hire.

Sitting on a bench near one of the doorways was a plump middle-aged woman in bright, overly fancy clothing.

“Why is it that house-mothers always look the same?” Gol murmured.

“Sly Lalli is tall and slim,” Cery pointed out. “Goody Sis is short and petite.”

“But the rest are rather similar. Big, busty and—”

“Quiet. She’s coming over.”

The woman had seen them watching her, hauled herself to her feet and was making her way toward them. “You looking for Aunty? She’s over there.” She pointed. “Hey Aunty!” she shouted.

They both turned to see a tall, elegant woman with long red hair swivel on her heel to regard them. At a gesture from the plump woman she smiled and strode forward.

“Here for some good company, are we?” she said. She looked at Gol, who was watching the other woman returning to her seat. “People always assume Martia runs the place,” she said. “But she’s here keeping an eye on her son, who works in the servery. Like to go downstairs?”

“Yes. I’m here to see an old friend,” Cery told her.

She smiled knowingly. “As are we all. Which old friend would that be?”

“Terrina.”

The woman’s eyebrows rose. “That one, eh? Well, no man asks for her who doesn’t already know what he’s getting. I’ll take you to her.”

She led them through the doorway down a short flight of stairs into a room beneath the bolhouse. It was as large as the room above, but was filled with rows of cubicles. Paper screens were attached to the sides, and most were closed to hide the interior – and from the sounds coming from all sides most of the cubicles were being used for the purpose they were built for.

Aunty led them to a cubicle near the centre of the room. The screens were open. Inside was a single chair. It was a generously sized chair, with a large cushioned seat and sturdy arms. All of the rooms were furnished thus. The women here did not want their customers to be so comfortable they’d fall asleep and prevent them servicing more customers. Cery turned to nod at Gol, who took up a position a few steps away, outside another empty room.

As Cery moved into the cubicle, Aunty closed the screens. Sitting down, he listened to the sounds nearby, then extended his focus beyond the moans and laughs in search of sounds that didn’t belong. The sound of breathing. Of footsteps. Of the rustle of cloth.

His nose caught a scent that brought a rush of memories, many years old. He smiled.

“Terrina,” he murmured, turning to the back of the little room.

A panel of the wall slid aside, revealing a woman with short hair and dark clothing. She looks just the same. Perhaps that little crease between her brows is a bit deeper. She was a little too lean and muscular to be called beautiful, but Cery had always found her athletic build attractive. As she recognised him, her eyebrows rose and she relaxed.