The road back to Marash was harsh and lonesome; Bogdi struggled to find any real good reason why he was doing any of this. Ingrate didn’t even thank me, he thought.
Sure, Manu had helped him out. He took him in despite the fact that Bogdi wasn’t a gypsy, adopted him into the clan, and let him earn like anybody else. But surely that couldn’t mean Bogdi was now to be captive and a slave for life. Surely there was some space for dignity in this whole arrangement. I didn’t give up being a drifter just to be a slave.
Rogoz had obviously been a shady double-dealer from the start, and the boss had gotten that one all wrong. Maybe it was because Manu hadn’t spent enough time in Rovina’s cities to hear what the Thieves Guild were really like; or maybe his mind flared up so maddeningly at the thought of the riches that could be made that thinking straight became impossible. Either way, it had been a terrible partnership and how things ultimately ended up was ample proof of that.
The skies cleared up by the time Bogdi reached town. He arrived back at camp at around noon, and a few desperate souls were already crowding around him, asking when Manu would be back and begging for spare change. “Soon,” he said, handing out some saresti. “Now can you all disperse? I’ve got business to do. I told you, the boss is running some errands and he’ll be back shortly, calm yourselves—you’d think you’re babies seeking the tit.”
As for tit, he was dying for some himself, whether plural or singular. It had been three days since he had been with a woman, and given his usual appetites that was three days too many. He took all the leras that he had left and made his way into town. Usually, Bogdi would content himself to going to one of the usual drinking holes and picking up whatever cheap whore was free. But given that things were looking dark for Manu, and himself by relation, maybe it was time to make the best of life for this one day. The Red Bear it is.
The geese guards were reluctant to let him pass, but greasing their palms with three leras each made them agreeable real quick. “You’re one of them gypsies, aren’t you? I seen you with that blue-eyed bastard,” the bigger one of the two said. “You don’t look like one.”
“I work for one, you could say.”
“Maybe don’t mention that to Martin. He ain’t feeling kind towards your kind.”
“Is that supposed to be a new development?”
As the conversation went on, Bogdi came to understand that it was. They mentioned that one gypsy kid that worked with them was now accused of theft. By the description, he knew it had to be little Esmeralda. “What’d she take?”
“Gold and valuable from the whores upstairs.”
“I see…”
Bogdi went in, got himself a drink, picked out a whore going by the sumptous description, then waited his turn. What was Esmeralda doing in this place anyhow? he wondered as he eyed the tables and the well-off geese sitting at them, unable to see what a young gypsy girl could do for work in a glorified whorehouse. Well, maybe there was money to be made in whorehouses, taking a few saresti here and there. But not when they were run and supervised so strictly. You stupid little kid, he thought, and sighed empathetically. What were you thinking?
Three drinks later, a tough-looking blonde wearing an apron came and escorted him to the bathing room upstairs. She helped Bogdi take off his clothes, then nudged him towards the smoking tub. Bogdi thought he could see a little white rivulet snaking in the water and grimaced. “How many people have been in this before me?”
She raised her brows indignantly and pointed to an empty pot in the corner. “It’s fresh.”
“Well.” He smiled. “I suppose I have no choice but to believe you.”
He stepped into the tub and lay down, slightly put off by the heat. The water was almost scalding. He wasn’t going to complain in front of this woman and look like a coward… but who in their right would want to stew and boil in this searing heat? It was supposed to cleanse, not melt skin off.
She massaged his shoulders and got him to relax, then grabbed a golden cup from the edge of the tub and used it to pour water over his head. It shone like real gold and was inlaid with gems; though it was undoubtedly a fakery, it still made Bogdi feel regal. Hell, clean water made him feel regal after the life he had lived for most of his days.
“I hear someone stole from here,” he said.
The blonde moved her dainty fingers through his matted hair, struggling to untangle it. “No, I don’t think so,” she said hesitantly. What a dedicated employee she was.
“You’re sure about that?”
“If you find a client that says anything has been stolen, you should let Martin know.”
“Your boss, I’m guessing? Anyway, I didn’t mean clients. Heard you had a little gypsy working here.”
Ignoring him, the blonde said, “Stand up.”
Bogdi watched with amusement as she scrubbed at his huge body and rinsed off the dirt and dead skin, wondering how it would even be possible to feel arousal for any man after dealing with so many filthy bodies on a daily basis. “You enjoy your work?”
The blonde made a face and sighed wearily. “Are you displeased with the service?”
Bogdi ran a hand through his recently cleaned hair. It felt good. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Then I’m very happy.”
She didn’t sound happy. The bath had been made to sound relaxing when it was offered downstairs, but it was clearly intended as a mercy for the women that would be sleeping with all kinds of monsters and not as a pleasurable experience for the clients themselves. The blonde poured two more cups over his head, then used the bottom part of her apron to dry him off and got him to step out. “You can go,” she said dismissively.
Bogdi put his clothes back on and and left three leras for her. “For your service.”
He walked over to the door and heard her say, “Third door on your right.”
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Bogdi nodded. “Much appreciated.”
He strolled down the hallway to the door in question, then knocked and peeked inside. The woman he had chosen sat at the edge of the bed, eating cherries out of one bowl and spitting the pits in another in a most disgraceful manner. She was rather dark-skinned, with short black hair, liquid black eyes, wearing a red dress that barely covered her toned upper body. “What do you want?” she asked, sounding like an impatient fishmonger at the stall. Despite her youthful appearance, the voice was rough and had a biting edge to it.
“How about everything?”
She sucked another cherry past her lips, scraped the flesh off the pit, and spit into the bowl. She put both bowls aside and wiped her hands over her sheets. Lovely, he thought.
“You have enough? Show me.”
Bogdi opened his bag and came over to show her the contents. Pleased, she nodded and stood to help him take off his clothes. “Say, are you a gypsy?” he asked.
She froze suddenly, glaring up at him. “The hell did you just say to me?”
“You know, because you’re… You look like you could be.”
Her hands fell away. “I’m not some gypsy swine!” She made a spitting gesture and grimaced in disgust. “I spit on their kind. They need to clean them up already. This city has way too many of those vermin.”
“Like move them away?”
“Or kill them!” she said, sounding a lot more in favor of the second option. “No one’ll miss them. They’re all thieves. They’re cursed by the gods to wander the earth, you know. They have no home. No one wants them. I say let’s kill them and be done with it.”
It struck Bogdi strange to hear such words coming out a woman that would have been mistaken for a gypsy nine times out of ten. You’re more likely to end up dead than some gypsies with that mouth of yours, he thought. Though perhaps that was where the real hatred came from. “I heard you had a gypsy working here.”
“Hah! Yes!” She dropped back down onto the bed and plopped another cherry into her mouth. Her white teeth crunched it down, the red juices trickling past her lips like blood. She spat the pit in her palm and said, “Some sly cockroach. I warned them I wanted her nowhere near me. Gypsies are no good, I don’t care if they’re one day old. They’ll still try to rob you. But this bitch running the place disagreed, of course, because he hates us.”
“He does?” said Bogdi.
She leaned back and crossed her legs, then rolled her eyes. “Of course he does. We’ve got no cocks to suck. Anyway, she robbed him blind. And all these dumb whores. Ran away with a small fortune. That’s what you get for hiring a gypsy. Me? I never even let her enter my room. I keep track of every single saresti. Otherwise, I’d be skinning the little brown bitch right now.”
A small fortune? Really? Bogdi believed Esmi capable of taking a few coins here and there with sleight of hand, but the idea that a thirteen-year-old girl had outsmarted an entire establishment undoubtedly accustomed to watching out for thieves was a little hard to believe.
“Anyway,” she sighed. “Are we going to fuck, or what?”
Bogdi went over and grabbed her by the neck, then came down and gave her a deep kiss. She grinned. “We sure are,” he said.
----------------------------------------
Crestfallen, Esmi sat against a tree by the old wharf, unsure of what to do and where to go.
When she had stolen the brooch, she had not assumed things would go crazy overnight. It’s just a brooch, she thought. But Ottillie had apparently gone insane when she discovered it was missing. There was no real evidence that Esmi had taken it, but since she was the only gypsy there, they just assumed she had, and not even Orlon was able to protect her from the hatred that kept pouring down.
She did her best to explain to Martin that it wasn’t true, and that she was only being targeted for being what she was. But then others started making accusations that were completely unfounded, insisting how they, too, had always suspected her of stealing because their tips and other valuables kept going missing. It was deranged, but how could she defend herself?
Martin refused to punish her without evidence, seeing as there was no real way to prove it; but he also told her she had no business returning to the Red Bear, at least for the time being. Even if she were innocent, the others simply did not want a gypsy working there and now they had rallied together to make sure there would never be another. Esmi sought Orlon to say goodbye without luck. Maybe he became convinced of her guilt as well. Or maybe he just didn’t want to say goodbye. All Esmi knew was that he avoided her. She hoped he didn’t blame himself for all this…
I didn’t steal all those things! They’re crazy…
The brooch she had already buried for safety. When coming back from the Red Bear after that final **talk with Martin, she found two unfamiliar men inside her wagon, searching everything, no doubt trying to find the brooch and whatever else they mistakenly thought she robbed. Esmi ran away and hid, but it took till nightfall for them to give up and leave.
The next morning, one of them entered the wagon while she was asleep and jumped on her. He put a hand hand around her throat, staring down at her from a pair of merciless black eyes. He traced a finger from her neck down to her belly, and Esmi whimpered, afraid that he was going to rape her. Instead, he said, “You better give that brooch back, little gypsy. I’ll give you till tonight. Stop pretending, the good lady knows you took it. And if you don’t want to give it back, I’m going to cut open your belly”—he pushed a finger savagely into her stomach—”and see if it’s in there. I’m going to gut you like a fish, little gyppo.”
Esmi began to cry, terrified, but that did nothing to calm him down. He cleared his throat and spit into her face. “Where is it, you little bitch! Just say where it is and you can avoid all of this!” As his thin lips spread opened wide to yell, she noticed he barely had any teeth left in his mouth—just a few sorry blackened stumps.
It seemed impossible that Martin would send such a monster after her, especially when he had those fine guards to do any dirty work. This was Ottillie’s doing, which made it worse, because with Manu gone Esmi saw no authority to appeal to for help. Martin and the others wouldn’t even see her if she went back there, and the guards were unlikely to let her pass.
“Do you hear me, you stupid gypsy cunt?” he spat. Holding her by the hair, he shook her head so vigorously that she got dizzy. “You either tell me where it is, or I’ll peel your fucking skin off and make a purse for Ms. Ottillie. I’m not fucking around!” He gave her a hard backhanded smack, then stood up. “You have till tonight.”
Esmi was left alone, weeping in her own bed. She didn’t even know where her father was, nor could she depend on his protection if she did find him. I should give it back, maybe, she thought. But then, the others would really know she did it, and would think of her as a thief forever. And though she had stolen nothing else except what she took from this crazy foreign ginger, the others would still expect to get back what she had never taken. Returning the brooch would solve nothing. Orlon would truly never speak to her again then.
Knowing it was no longer safe for her at the wagon, Esmi clothed herself for the snow outside, packed a little bread to eat, and went off to old wharf, where she remained until now. But it was already dusk, and it was only going to get colder with nightfall; she didn’t even know how to start a fire out here. Nor could she go back to get anything, for fear that the crazed man would be back.
Better to freeze to death out here than get raped, beaten, and killed. I won’t go, she told herself. I won’t.
In the far, far distance, Esmi thought she could hear a wolf howl. She rubbed her hands together for wamth, then glanced at the opal stickpin still flashing on the breast of her jacket. Razlan had been right. The thing was cursed, or at least seemed that way.
Esmi took it out and held it in her palm, wondering if an opal could truly be so powerful. For a moment, she thought of tossing it to the bottom of the river; then stopped herself. Partly because it had been a gift from Rika, so it would be better to return it. And because if she decided to run away, it was one of the few things she had to sell…
I wish Manu were here, she thought, tears coming to her eyes. Then, as her thoughts spiraled, she thought back to that awful night when the vampire had ripped through her mother. If not for that monster, Sandra would have still been here to help her and guide her today. Razlan would not have been this drunken, mostly dead wreck either. I wish none of this had happened.
Blinking away the tears, she ripped a tiny piece of bread and brought it to her lips. Staring at the river and praying for a miracle, she chewed hopelessly.