Month 11, Day 30, 8:00PM
Frank Poe
A short ride from the Lynwood manor, Poe and Marie stepped out of the carriage at the Hands, Hearts, and Palms massage parlor on the edge of Morrow territory. Down the street were a collection of rough bath-houses, saloons, and dance halls that catered to a rough sort of patron closer to the Mires side of the city.
Trash accumulated in the corners; only some of the “nicer” businesses managed to keep trash from the doorways. It wouldn’t do to the allure of the entertainments ruined by piles of putrid trash.
Madame—the manager of the Hands, Hearts, and Palms—made sure that its illiterate customers knew what they were in for: placard over the door showed a painted a pair of hands, with palms in a cupped shape and the overlapping thumbs making a stylized heart, although they did also have a flowing red script of the same. The door itself was black with a shiny brass handle. This early in the evening, customers were walking through the propped door for rendezvous with a delicate beautiful masseuse or a handsome muscular masseur. If those services were focused on relieving tensions beyond the musculature, customers were only charged only a modestly higher fee.
This was not the sole source of income for the parlor. Other Illegal services, like premium alchemical concoctions, smoking supplies, and tax-free glamours could be purchased, along with more wholesome services, like water and cloth to make oneself presentable—although clear water might be a bit extra.
Poe had discovered the Hands, Hearts, and Palms through an investigation for a father concerned about a wayward adult daughter. Poe didn’t find the daughter, or rather, he didn’t find the daughter quickly enough to get paid. His client had a fatal misadventure involving a chair leg, a woman of negotiable affection, three-quarters of a gallon of alcohol, and an angry gang enforcer.
Poe followed Marie, who headed straight in. Poe had never been entirely comfortable at Hands, Hearts, and Palms. For one thing, he was never quite sure where to look. The parlor was always populated with masseuses dressed in simple white thigh-length tunics. They all tended to be stunningly attractive, glamoured, and the tunics were very translucent.
He was also a little anxious because it was a Morrows-run business. He’d encountered the Morrows before, and they had a worrying tendency toward kidnapping. He knew this from his own cases. The only reason he wasn’t better known to them was that they tended to forget that he’d even been involved. One of the few advantages of the curse.
There were, however, plenty of other employees, and to distinguish them, those employees performing ordinary chores—like washing, fetching water, and doing laundry—wore black.
Marie was utterly comfortable among the patrons and employees of the Hands, Hearts, and Palms. She had, after all, been working there herself as a cleaner and greeter when Poe encountered her. In fact, the first time they’d met, she’d kicked him out. She did have the help of the hulking bouncer she greeted by the front entrance.
“Hi Dinkey! Is Mama around?”
“Little Marie, you’s late. Your Mama asks me four times if’n you came back yet.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Where is she?”
“In the ‘aundry. Who’s with you?” Dinkey asked.
“It’s Mr. Poe Dinkey; the detective that hired me?”
“This ‘im? Looks like a fancy.”
Poe nodded to Dinkey. He’s already learned from experience, Dinky’s muscles were not for show.
Marie giggled. “Maybe Dinkey, maybe. We’ll go on back?”
Dinkey nodded. As Frank walked past him though the door, Dinky held out his shovel-like hand to stop Poe. “You hurt ‘er fancy man, you gonna get hurt right back, you understand?”
“Her person is completely safe with me.” Frank replied.
“Better be all of ‘er, not on’y ‘er person, yeah?”
“Ah … yes, of course.” Arguing that her “person” consisted of “all of her” would require a potentially condescending explanation that this particular heavy-lidded and violent man might not take kindly. Frank reckoned that kindly thoughts were preferable with enforcers who had protective and violent tendencies.
The hand lifted and Frank proceeded to “the back,” which were those rooms and places prohibited to customers.
Frank counted that Dinkey, and several other of the bouncers, had given him this warning nearly a dozen times, including at least once for every time he visited. Poe found this a definitely undesirable side-effect of his curse. Because the various bouncers, guards, and enforcers could not remember they’d made the threat, Frank had to hear a version of this little speech every time her walked Marie home from the Agency.
But, it comforted Frank, in a way. Marie had people to watch over her, even if they were the employees—and probably gang members—at this shrewd little business.
Frank followed Marie down a series of poorly lit hallways. These were the spaces where the staff toiled to keep up the facade of luxury; here, they kept the supplies to stock the rooms with massage oils, cleaning supplies, and spare lamps filled with sweet-smelling oils.
The rooms out front were clean and whitewashed; these spaces had a shabby, dirtier, and less well-maintained feel.
In the back, in a room that smelled strongly of soap, they kept the enchanted boilers for hot water, the big tubs for cleaning the uniforms and table covers, and generally did the laundry for the business. Black clothed women and men hauled fabric between the washing, rinsing and drying. They chatted about nonsense, and generally worked hard but laughed and joked while they did it.
Here is where they found Mama Stella, armful of dried clothes in her arms as she moved to the folding and pressing station. Frank had encountered her before. She was a tough-looking, stern, and thin woman. She had straight black hair, pulled into a bun, and, while working, she wore a plain ankle length black dress and a faded black apron. Frank had never seen her smile at anyone.
“Mama!” Marie called to her. She rushed forward, but didn’t get in her mother’s way. “I’ve got great news Mama! Mr. Poe is going to apprentice me! I’ll go live at the Agency while he teaches me!”
Mama dropped her laundry at the folding station, and accepted Marie’s hug. She released Marie and looked down at her disapprovingly.
“The investigator you’ve been working for? The one that keeps you out late so your mama worries about you?”
Frank wasn’t sure he liked the way this was going.
“It’s not been that late, and we had work.” Marie replied, oblivious to the danger.
“You been out all hours of the night, when the Raven Queen is doings her evil blood magic? That Lord Stag has been stirring up trouble? Where have you been?” Mama Stella worked up a bit of heat in her voice.
“We visited Lord Lynwood, because Mr. Poe had a job with him.”
“The Pack now too? What is he getting you into? And he wants to apprentice you?”
“Yeah! He’s a thaumaturge. I saw him scry for the Raven Queen at the copper station!”
“A wizard?”
“I mean, yeah …” Marie looked over that Frank anxiously “he can do magic.”
“He keeps you out late at night, takes you to an enemy of Lord Morrow, meddles with things better left alone, is friends with the coppers, AND he wants you to live with him. No. I don’t think so. How are you sure he’s not a scam? Remember that useless luck charm Betty bought? And then she had that bad customer that pulled her hair? I was ok with an honest day job, but this is too much.”
“Ma’m.” Frank spoke up. “We discussed this when I hired Marie; I left you a note about it?”
“Who are you? I don’t have no time for reading.” Mama Stella replied.
“That is … ok. I am Frank Poe, and Marie’s … boss. Your daughter seems to have a talent for magic, and I think if she were to practice, she could attend University.”
“You’ll want paying? We don’t have money for that.”
“No, Marie’s work at the Agency is sufficient to pay her way. I would even provide room and board during her apprenticeship.”
“What kind of work needs her to live with you? I’ll not sell my daughter to the likes of you.”
Frank blushed. This was exactly the conversation he didn’t want to have with Mama Stella. If she’d actually read his note … He kicked himself. She didn’t read the note because she was illiterate. She didn’t remember any of their previous conversations, and he had no other way of making the apprenticeship offer memorable.
“Mama, Master Poe isn’t like that!”
“Master Poe is it? What right does he have to be called a ‘Master’?”
Poe would have preferred to drink the laundry water than continue this conversation, and Marie didn’t look much better.
“Stella, please. I run a reputable investigative agency, and I do have a license to practice magic at the journeyman level. I do not want your daughter for anything untoward. In fact, I was hoping to invite you to live with her in the rooms above my own?”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“What, and stop working here? What would I eat?”
“No, not stop work here …”
“It’s all well and good a fancy man like you living on your own, but I need to work for a living.”
“I think we’re drifting off course here; Marie has talent, and she would benefit from an apprenticeship. I promise I will treat her like a little sister. Look, I can give you references if you like?”
“They’d be nouwt to me.”
“Mama, please?” Marie grasped her mother’s hand.
“You are happy with this man?”
“It’s not like that Mama! He’s gonna teach me magic! I can be a sorcerer, why would you keep me from that?” Marie’s cry was loud enough, some of the other workers took notice and were clearly trying to listen, without seeming to listen.
Mama Stella gave Frank a withering look. He tried to look as innocent as possible.
Marie eyes drifted sideways, and her brow furrowed. Frank had seen that look before. Marie pulled her mother back from Frank, and switched to a sweeter, quiet voice.
“Mama, if you can’t come live with me, I’ll come visit you first thing every morning, before you go to bed? That way you know I’ll be safe. And if I don’t come, you can send Dinkey to check up on me. I’m sure he’d do it.”
“Marie, I love you. You know that there’s bad people that will take advantage. You’re just so small.” Marie’s mother did smile, and reached down and stroked her child’s hair. “I worry about you. It’s because you were sick when you were young, and I thought you were going to die. If I could, I’d go, but I can’t leave this job. I owe the Morrows.”
“But, I’ll learn magic, and then no one can hurt me; and I can help and protect you too. If I get a job as a thaumaturge I can pay off the debt!” Marie batted away her mother’s hand.
“You sure he’s going to teach you magic, and not do … other things.”
“No Mama. He’s been great. He’s going to give me money for the job too. I’ll share it with you if you want.”
“No need to share your money with me, dear, if you’ve earned it. Just, people like that, they get used to taking what they want.”
Marie lowered her voice to a whisper. Maybe she thought Frank wouldn’t be able to hear over the other who were washing, but the other workers were being pretty quiet. He suspected they’d stilled so they could catch as much of this juicy gossip as possible.
“Mama, please trust me. I’m not a kid anymore, and I know what I’m doing. I’ll go without your blessing if I have to, this is a real chance. I still got my knife, in case someone wanted to, you know …”
“That’s the trouble” Mama replied quietly, “not all thems that take use big muscles. Some of ‘em take with sweets and flowers.”
Marie looked up at her Mama pleadingly. If she ever looked at Frank that way, he was pretty sure she’d get whatever she wanted. This seemed to be enough for Mama Stella too.
“Oh, very well!” She huffed. “You come visit me everyday or send somebody with a message. If’n not, Dinkey will come and bring you home and that will be that.” She relaxed around the eyes. “If anything happens, you can always come home, hear me?”
Marie nodded seriously. “I hear you three times, Mama.” Her mother turned to Frank.
“You better be good to my little girl Lord Poe.” Her mother admonished Frank.
“Mr. Poe.” Frank reflexively replied.
“Whatever you call yourself. I know your type. I may just be a maid, but I have friends in the Morrows. Her Papa is an important man!”
Frank had never met Marie’s father; Marie had come to work for him under a similar vague threat. He reckoned that people did not need to threaten him to persuade him to do the right thing. But, if she was conceding, he wasn’t going to argue a won battle.
Marie rolled her eyes a bit at this as well; she didn’t talk about her father, so Frank assumed that he’d abandoned his lover and their little girl.
“You can count on me.” Frank said. He leaned down to Marie to have a quick conversation.
“I don’t know how much your mother is going to remember. If you want to spend the night here, and pack tomorrow?”
“No. Master Poe, it’s not that much. Just my make-up and some clothing. We should go now while my Mama has said ok.”
“Look, once I leave, your Mama will forget; you’ll have to do some of this conversation over again, mostly by yourself. Do you think you can?”
“Yeah. Wait for me out front?”
“Uh. I’m not really a patron …” Frank felt his headache pounding and another blush was coming on.
Marie giggled. “You are so silly. Ok, you can wait over by the service entrance in the alley. I’ll come get you when I’m packed up.”
Marie looked over the room and shouted at a boy who was helping load a tub of fabric. The boy took a little cajoling, but Marie convinced him to show Frank to the back door while she went to pack.
Frank found himself deposited outside next to two men and a woman dressed in the white tunics; they had fluffy white dressing robes on, to keep the chill out, and they were casually smoking some sweet smelling herbs wrapped in papers.
The trio got quiet when he appeared, shuffling closer together and stiffening in discomfort.
Sharing a smoke was a time-tested rapport builder, so Frank searched in his coat for his smoking equipment. His pipe and smoking pouch came out from his specially expanded pockets.
He had several smoking mixtures; he chose a kinninnick made from hair-like strips of crimson dogwood and fey alder bark. His blends of kinninnick were practically a potions by themselves, but the smoke would burn hot. His pipe alleviated this problem. Made of three pieces cast iron threaded and joined together, his pipe was a little longer than his forearm and would cool the smoke to keep him from burning his mouth.
The smoking pipe was a little work of art as well. The kiseru-style pipe was decorated with a silver sky kraken inlay with clouds, and with enchanted toughness and other protections, it worked as a defensive weapon if he needed. Not quite as useful as a sword or wand, and not as deadly as a knife, but Frank liked it. A long metal smoking pipe could provide leverage on a joint or deflect an edge, and Frank’s mother had made sure he trained with a master in its defensive use.
He hoped a pain-relieving smoke would smooth his still pounding head and ease the nausea. He had different treated smoking herbs; nothing addictive, and nothing mind altering. He admired shamans, but not that part of it. He still considered himself a modern sorcerer.
With a flourish for the trio, he packed the little bowl with the sweet kinninnick.
“Can I get light off you?” Frank asked. He had no need for a light; he had mundane and magical means of lighting the pipe on him. It even had a self lighting enchantment. But, asking for a favor would help build rapport, and lower their tension.
“Sure.” The shorter of the two men offered the end of his little rolled up smoke. Frank held his pipe out, and the man touched the kinninnik to his smoke; Frank lit his pipe with a a quick draw of flame.
“Don’t mind me.” Frank said, holding the pipe with his finger extended to support its weight, and taking a mouthful of pale white smoke and blowing it out gently. “I’m just waiting for Marie.”
“Are you … from around here?” The woman asked.
“I live nearby, if that’s what you’re asking.” Poe replied. “I won’t say anything about you smoking back here, if that’s what worrying you. You needed a break. I get it.”
The three relaxed a little. They returned to chatting among themselves.Poe tuned them out, and looked up at the stars.
The light from the city made it difficult to see all but the brightest stars. The alley had a surprisingly good view of the palace atop the wall as well. The palace was lit this evening with weir lights and shone silver against the dark sky.
He’d thought, once, that he’d be working there by now. A respected thaumaturge. A Master. He’d really wanted that. Now, it made him a little sick to think about. Or, it could be nausea from the will strain.
“You hear about the big fight down by the Stag’s warehouse?” The shorter of the two men said conversationally.
“Sure.” Frank replied mechanically, lost in his own thoughts, as he was focused on feeling the pain in his temples ease. He drew more smoke into his mouth, held it for a moment, and blew out a white stream of it, ethereal and lit by the dim light at the back door.
“I heard Lord Stag himself was there. With the antlers and everything. He knocked out a couple of our boys the other week. They thought they’d get him, but he jumped off his horse and beat ‘em all senseless.”
“Hush. You know Morrows don’t like us gossiping about that.” The taller man said.
“Don’t worry,” said Poe, “I won’t rat.”
“The Raven Queen has set herself against us now.” The woman said. “She could come for any of us.”
“That seems a bit petty.” Poe said. “A sorcerer ought to have more to worry about.”
“Yeah. What do you think we did to catch her ire?” The taller man asked.
“More like, what do you think Lord Stag paid her for her help? What did he promise?” The shorter man replied.
“Souls, blood. Who knows what she wants?” The woman shuddered. Frank snorted a bit of smoke out his nose mid-draw. Souls? That was a bit dramatic.
“I heard she turned into a shadow and sent down a flock of ravens on our boys. They even had some sorcerers with them, people from up at the University, and they couldn’t do anything. They had a shield up and everything. Worthless against the Raven Queen’s shadow magic. They were lucky to get away alive.” The short man said.
“Shadows can’t cut your shin to pieces.” The taller man said grimly, and took a drag from his blunt. “I saw ‘em come in, leg torn up. Like a demon bit him. She was flinging some horrible spell from the top of a tower. Not like a stunner. Real evil magic. I heard it was screaming as it flew at them. Like she was throwing tortured spirits.”
“Lord Stag is getting bold. Now he’s got the Raven Queen with him? Giving up a couple of poor streets is one thing, but he’s muscling in.” The shorter man said.
“Hush. Not in front of an outsider.” The taller man said. The woman gave Frank a sideways glance.
“It’s not a secret. A war is coming. Lord Stag has someone backing him. There’s money there somewhere. Connections.” The shorter man replied.
“We’ve got connections of our own. We’ll be safe enough from some upstart.” The taller man said.
“But, the Raven Queen? Nobody has connections like that, except the Stags.” The woman was nearly done with her smoke. Just a small bit left.
“Just keep the customers happy. Keep your head down, and your hands soft.” The tall man finished his smoke as well. He flicked what was left of it in burning arc the struck the ground in a flash of sparks, then he stomped on it.
They all nodded. The conversation lulled. Rumors, Frank thought. But also connections. He’d definitely have to try to contact the Stags if he wanted to fulfill Lacer’s commission, and the other one. The apprentice with the bandaged arm.
Frank took another contemplative draw on his pipe. The palliative smoke pleasantly reduced his headache.
He suspected that the Raven Queen would not have any special use for souls. But, blood, with that she could do a lot of damage. If she really was a blood sorcerer, she was a threat. Would the Red Guard get involved?
The idea of monetary support for the Stags raised tantalizing new connections as well. If the one of the powerful Crown families were affiliated, she might have a too-close covert connection to one of them. That would be interesting all by itself.
He wondered about the investigative file the coppers would be compiling. Would it reveal which noble families that she might have been affiliated with? Even if she currently had no noble backing, the crown families were always looking for some leverage; the Raven Queen would be a powerful ally, or a dangerous enemy. And not just the magic. The information.
Why did she have an element of dreams?
Frank gazed back up at the palace. It looked invincible; remote, and impossible to reach. Appearances, Frank thought, aren’t everything.
He’d realized that he wouldn’t be able to rest; the Raven Queen wouldn’t be resting. No. She’d be moving in the shadows, just out of sight. He worried that finding her might not be such a good idea after all, but he’d promised, and it was hard, so very, very hard, for him to go back on a promise when the Frigg approved of a case. He might take a case his raven oracle rejected, but he’d always take a case that she recommended to him.
The workers went back inside, and Frank finished his pipe. Marie arrived a short time later with a massive bag filled with various lumpy shapes, hard edges, and soft clothing stuffed between. He carried it for her to the street, where they called a carriage and returned home: the offices of the August Agency.