I give the masked gentleman a cautious smile. “What’s your pleasure, sir?”
“My pleasure is for you to listen closely.” Impatience threads his stern tone. “I’ll speak plainly with you, and in return you’ll keep your mouth shut and your ears open.”
Pressing my lips together, I nod.
“I need a man killed.”
My lips part again, a protest on my tongue, but he cuts me off with a gesture of his broad gloved hand. “Don’t speak yet. This man—there are reasons I cannot slay him myself, or send my men after him. Those reasons are none of your business. All you need to know is that he has a penchant for beautiful whores with long red hair—naturally red, mind you. He can discern a wig or a magical alteration. Yours is the richest, most vibrant color I’ve seen. He won’t be able to resist you.”
Questions leap into my mind, but I bite them back and wait.
“His ship is expected in Knockaine by week’s end,” the masked gentleman continues. “You’ll live at The Royal Orchid and train with the courtesans there until this man shows up. He’s a longtime patron of the place. The Orchid has two redheads in stock, but the house-masters don’t want to risk their prize courtesans for such a task.”
Of course they don’t. But I’m a dock girl—disposable.
He leans forward, his wolfish mask even more menacing when backed by the threatening bulk of his shoulders. “If you fail to slay your target, if you are caught, you will have no aid from me. It will be said that you acted alone, and you will be imprisoned or executed. But if you succeed, you will be given a permanent place at The Royal Orchid. The entrance examination will be waived and all your dues paid for the next ten years.”
I gasp, unable to hide my shock.
This is all I’ve ever wanted—the only hope I cherish, the one thing toward which I’ve been struggling. With a place at the Orchid, I could provide for Sylvie. I could be safe and healthy, free to live the comfortable life of a cherished courtesan with select clients.
All I have to do is end the life of a stranger.
“Why do you want him dead?”
“That is none of your concern.”
“And what if I say no?”
The wolf mask tilts aside. “Amusing that you think you have a choice in the matter. I’ve questioned Orgul about you, and I know there are two people you cherish among the rabble at The Winking Siren. Failure to comply will result in the unfortunate demise of one Sylvie Kearnsey. No one will miss her except you, I think. And if that doesn’t sway you, I’ll buy that little black-haired beauty, Aisu, and then kick her into the streets. I’m sure the gangs will welcome her with open arms and stiff cocks.”
I don’t snarl at him or proclaim him a monster. He already knows what he is, and I’ve seen more than my share of his kind during my twenty years. He has me impaled and wriggling, a pretty insect pinned to his card, and I have no choice but to yield.
I’ve had all the joy and light raked out of me by the claws of men. Surely I can manage to kill one of the bastards if it means gaining a better life for myself and my mother.
“We have an agreement,” I say.
The masked man guffaws. “Such manners from a common dock-drooler. Perhaps we can pass you off as a courtesan after all.”
Dock-drooler is a coarse term for eve-walkers like me, who lurk on the docks hoping to catch the eyes of freshly-landed sailors. I’ve been called that and worse, a thousand times.
“You will not speak of your task to anyone at the Orchid,” says the masked gentleman. “All they know is that you’re being given a chance to prove yourself. They will teach you how to behave like a courtesan, and you’d best learn the skills quickly, because in three or four days’ time, you’ll be expected to lure the target. I will send word when you should expect him, and provide the weapon of his demise. Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” He leans back and tugs free the buttons of his pants. “We’ve a few minutes before we reach the Orchid. Come here and demonstrate your skills.”
2
Whenever I dreamed of entering The Royal Orchid, I always imagined gliding up the front steps and sailing through the gilded entrance, dressed in a luxurious gown. But it’s only fitting for someone like me to creep through the back door instead.
The masked gentleman doesn’t leave the coach; he simply deposits me on the street behind the Orchid and tells me to knock at the kitchen door. “They’re expecting you.” He pulls the carriage door shut, and it rolls away.
I can still taste him on my tongue—thick, florid, faintly sour. He was big, and I took him deep. The back of my throat is a little sore.
He was pleased, though. Patted my head, muttered breathless curses as I slid my mouth off him. A faint flush of satisfaction lingers on my cheeks. I like knowing that I’m good at what I do.
I rap at the door he indicated, and within seconds it opens. A lean, brown-skinned man in heavy makeup and a feathered robe props one hip against the doorframe and peers down at me through thick lashes dotted with blue glitter.
“Aine bless us!” he drawls. “What’s this? Legayle, there’s some ragged dock-drooler waif here on the step. Shall I send her away?”
“Gods, no!” A stocky woman shoulders him aside, and he yields, smirking.
The woman’s curly purple hair frames a face dotted with freckles. She wears a bejeweled patch over her left eye, and her blousy tunic reveals ample cleavage. She catches me by the wrist and drags me inside. “You’ll be the one, eh? We’ve been waitin’ for you. Gods’ bones, would you look at that hair? Right stunning, you are! Or you will be, once you’ve been cleaned up a bit! By my right eye, you’re a treat! Isn’t she, Zadi?”
Zadi, the man in the feathered robe, tucks a lit hannas stick between his teeth and cocks an eyebrow. “She’s the charity case? The one Bess mentioned? Better call the healer at once—she’s probably riddled with infections and diseases. Bugs, too, maybe.”
“I don’t have bugs,” I snap.
“Not protesting the rest, though.” He gives me a knowing look. “Filth breeds filth.”
“You should know.” The purple-haired woman gives him an affectionate swat on the rear as she passes by. “Do send for the healer, will you? She should still be here, tending to Elbeth. Come, dear, this way.”
She bustles through the enormous kitchen toward another door. I follow, dazzled by the gleam of firelight off copper pots, silver cups, brass tankards, and gold-rimmed wine-glasses. My view of the floor-to-ceiling shelves and spacious tables is cut off as we move into a hallway.
“I’m Legayle,” says the woman. “You?”
“Risa.”
“A pleasure, Risa. I been lookin’ forward to this since the master told us you were coming. Most of our courtesans arrive with their look, their graces, and their wardrobe already established, and they only require a refresh now and then—but you—” she glances at me over her shoulder, beaming with delight— “you, I get to clean and dress and design all by myself. And such top-shelf material to work with! I hardly knew what to expect, but you’re lovely, poppet.”