Esmi’s eyes darted to every alleyway and crowd, desperately trying to target the thief. Where are you, you little bastard?
Passing her by, she could see just about everyone except him: the riflemen from before, hulking men transporting chests and rolled-up rugs, sailors recently arrived on shore and heading to buy comfort at the same time as other drunks stumbled out of taverns, and even a couple of noble-looking ladies with lace-trimmed dresses, riding boots, white gloves, and intricate, silky-looking hair piled on top of their heads. What are they doing here?
Esmi stared after the women as they passed her holding hands, wondering if there was any chance she would ever look like a lady herself.
Very unlikely.
In the end, it was on her way out of the city that she spotted the thief, trying to swindle the leader of a laden carriage with some cheap trinkets. Esmi bolted towards him at full speed. The ground was soft enough that her feet kicked up mud and caused splashing; the moment the little thief saw her, his eyes went wide and he ran without so much as bothering to grab his trinkets from his would-be victim’s hands. “You stop, you little shit! You stop right there!”
He rushed headlong into a scraggly thicket, hoping to get rid of her; but Esmi was older and at least a head taller, and her long legs lent her great speed while he struggled under the weight of his enormously oversized coat. She caught up to him as he ran in the shadows of a couple of firs near the river’s edge, grabbed him by the back of his coat, and slammed him into one of the trees.
The kid went down with a cry. She pounced on him and landed a savage smack to the mouth, then clawed at his chest. “Where are they? Where is my money?!”
He cried helplessly and kicked at her, but boy or not, she was older and he stood no chance. “Tell me,” she snarled. “Tell me, and I won’t choke the life out of you right now.”
Tears welled in his eyes. As the frustration in him mounted at being unable to get away, he began to sob, and soon he was wailing at the top of his lungs. Weak little goblin. “Stop crying and just tell me!”
Esmi took her hands away in disgust and checked all his pockets. When nothing turned up, she grabbed his boot. As soon as he felt her trying to pull it off, he shrieked and kicked her off, then clambered up to his feet—on the run again. You tricky little bastard.
The young thief ditched the coat as he ran, scooped up some pebbles by the shore, and turned around mid-run to pelt her. One hit way too close to her eye. “Stop! Stop, you goddamned idiot, or I’m going to drown you. By every god out here, I swear…”
When he realized not even the rocks would be enough, he started yelling, “Help! Help, she’s trying to kill me. Heeelp!”
He wheeled and went back towards the road, where a looming figure was trudging along peacefully: Bogdi, Manu’s friend. No shirt covered his torso; through the dark hair sprouting across his chest and shoulders, Esmi could still notice the strong, hardened muscles and came to a sudden, apprehensive halt.
The kid ran behind him. “She’s trying to kill me!”
Bogdi squinted. “I know you. You’re the drunk’s daughter.”
The Drunk. What a nice title her father earned himself. This entire town drank, and yet they still knew who The Drunk was. “Esmeralda,” she pointed out coolly.
“Right. Why are you trying to kill this poor little fellow?”
“He stole my money.”
“I didn’t! I swear I didn’t!”
“Now, now,” said Bogdi in a mockery of sagacity. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. How’d you know he took them?”
“Check his boots.”
Bogdi turned to do just that, at which point the thief tried running off again; but the much larger Bogdi held him in place by the scruff of the neck. “Come now, Zelu. Where are you going, my sweet boy?”
The boots got slipped off one by one. In the first there was nothing; but as the second came off, the coins flew out and landed in the dirt road.
At once, Zelu became disconsolate. Bogdi patted his little chest amicably. “Look at that, Zelu. Seems your toes grow coins. And leras at that. You’re a real magical boy.”
Esmi went to get them, only to get shoved back by Bogdi. “They’re mine!” she said.
“Not so fast,” he said with a grin. “They don’t have your name on them, do they?”
She crossed her arms defiantly. “I’ll tell Manu.”
Bogdi picked up all the coins, two leras and a dozen saresti, and played with them in his big meaty palm. “And how’d a girl like you come about two leras anyhow?”
“My dad gave them to me for safekeeping. He’s asleep.”
“Is that right?”
Esmi could see him trying to prod her, but she kept her eyes unflinchingly steady. “Yes.”
“It’s not fair!” Zelu said. “Those aren’t even all hers! And I stole them fair and square.”
Bogdi cackled in amazement. “You stole them fair and square?” The boy nodded seriously. “Those are two words you might never want to use in describing a crime you committed if you come across a lawman.”
“You ain’t no lawman,” he said. “You’re a gypsy. You joined us.”
“I am now, that’s true. Nevertheless. I need to judge this thing.”
“No,” said Esmi, stepping forwards. “That’s my silver, and that’s the end of it. If not, I’ll tell Manu and he’ll—”
Bogdi rushed forwards, scooped her up in his arms and bounced her helplessly as she squealed. “He’ll what, huh?” He grinned. “He’ll kill me? Because of your two leras?”
“Let me go! Let me go!!”
Laughing, he put her back down and flicked one of the silver coins in the air expertly. “Tell you what, children. I have a solution that will make everyone happy. First of all, all the saresti will go to Zelu.” The little boy cried out with joy. Esmi fumed with murder in her eyes.
“Why?” she demanded to know, stomping her feet. “He stole them! They’re not his! He stole them, you big stupid idiot!”
“Hey! Calm down, girl, don’t you dare curse at me. Or I’ll land a smack on that pretty face that makes you quiet for a whole year. Now, if you were one of the geese, sure, you could go tell somebody he stole them. But you’re a gypsy. We all are. And you’re almost a woman. You should know better than to get pickpocketed by a damn kid. Consider the loss of the saresti your tax for being taught this very valuable lesson.”
Beyond pleased with himself, Zelu held his cupped hands out and almost shuddered with satisfaction as the coins poured in with satisfying clinks. At the end, he stuck his tongue out at Esmi.
“As for these two,” said Bogdi. “These we’re going to toss between us, Esmeralda.”
That riled up Zelu almost more than her. “You can’t do that!” he said, even as he clutched the saresti he received with watchful eyes. “They’re mine, too! I should get a try.”
“Kid, if I hadn’t come along, this little girl would’ve skinned you alive. Be grateful you got to keep those. Now, Esmeralda, let’s go.” Bogdi tossed the first lera and caught it in his palm. “Heads or tails?”
“Heads,” she said. Bogdi showed her tails. She clicked her tongue and cursed. Zelu danced happily. No way the big guy wasn’t cheating, but she had no idea how.
Another coin went up. “Heads,” she said, and again it was tails.
“Sorry,” said Bogdi, pocketing both. “You lose.”
“I’m gonna go tell Manu,” she threatened again.
“Ha ha, loooser!” Zelu ran as Esmi started towards him with a raised fist, happy to keep the coins he received.
When the small thief was out of earshot, Bogdi crouched down before Esmi and offered the two leras back. “Go on, take them.”
Thinking it a trick, she hesitated. “Why?”
“Because they’re yours. I was just trying to get rid of him. What, you’d think I’d steal from a beautiful little lady?” Bogdi grinned, and she could see his three missing teeth.
Smirking, she took them back. “You’ve got one ugly mug,” she said.
“As the gods intended. I take that as a compliment. Easiest way to get to a woman’s heart is through beauty, or through pity, and most men can’t inspire either, but god knows my face inspires pity.”
“You’re not that ugly. Just need teeth.” Feeling suddenly shy and grateful to have the silver back, she quietly added, “Thank you, though.”
“Don’t mention it, kid. Keep your eyes peeled next time.”
Esmi watched him walk off and yelled, “I’ll tell Manu you helped me!”
He bowed his head, “I’m sure that will make his day.”
Fine, then I won’t, prick, she thought, confused by his both polite and irreverent attitude.
Just then, one of the Virgins was coming from the other direction. Bogdi bowed upon seeing her low, almost mockingly so. Then, right as she passed him by, he turned and cupped a good feel of her ass. The Virgin and gasped and rushed forwards, horrified, but he only winked. “You want some company, sweetheart?”
The encounter was enough to send the Virgin fleeing and praying.
“Emilia’ll pay you back for that,” Esmi warned.
“Well, she knows where to find me.”
----------------------------------------
Razlan woke up with the world spinning around him and a throbbing headache. It took some time for him to remember just where he had been the night before. Then he looked up and figured out the time of the day—slowly, he got his bearing.
He washed his face with cold water. Tried to wake up. Feeling wasted in the aftermath of yesterday’s drinking, he got the bottle of rum he kept hidden under the wagon for emergencies and took a quick swig. In just moments, his mind was beginning to clear.
Is was evening, or just about. The embers of the heavens were almost out in the east, but the days were getting shorter now. The cold would be back any day now.
That always reminded him of Sandra and what happened to her.
Of her body.
Trying to take his mind off it, he went into the wagon looking for his daughter. Then he recalled his conversation with Manu the day before, and the fact that he had been given two leras which he could no longer find.
Some no-good thieving bastard must’ve taken them, he thought, wishing he could find the thief and whip his back bloody.
He looked around through the grass surrounding the place where he had slept to see if they were there, and he was still on all fours and prying grass apart for the coins when his daughter showed up.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her honey-brown eyes full of concern. Looking at her, Razlan smiled for once. It had been so long since he took a good look at her that he hadn’t noticed how pretty she was becoming.
“Looking for something. You see anybody around the wagon?”
“No.”
“Think somebody took something from me. Had some coin but I can’t find them. Oh well. How are you, Esmeralda?”
Esmi stared at him and blinked. “Just coming from town.”
“No more card guessing?”
“I guess not.”
A ray of the dying sun struck right across her breast in passing and made whatever she had on her chest scintillate. Razlan took a step closer. She took a small one back. He noticed the golden sunburst surrounding the large opal. His fingers went down to it. Esmi. “Nice stickpin you got there.”
“Thanks…”
The way she averted her eyes kept him cautious. Razlan lifted her face up gently. “You didn’t steal this, Esmeralda, did you?”
“No.”
“Okay, then where’d you get it?”
“My friend at the market. I can take you to her if you don’t believe me.” With every word that she said, he could tell that she hated him, and she hated that he did not believe her.
“Okay. I trust you. Opals are unlucky, just so you know.”
Esmi knitted her brows in doubt. “No, they’re not. She said it’s good fortune.”
“Maybe for the geese. But not for us. It’s bad luck. It’s pretty, but I wouldn’t wear it if I were you.”
“Well, you’re not me.”
Razlan smiled ruefully. “That’s true.”
He explained to her that they were expected at Manu’s wagon for dinner and that seemed to please her more than he would’ve liked. Razlan doubted that a man like Manu would have an interest in a little girl like her, so he wasn’t too worried about anything unsavory going on in that regard; but he also wasn’t comfortable with his daughter taking up whatever it was he did to make all that coin he dealt in.
All gypsies pulled tricks, sure. But it was one thing to try and sell a man on something he didn’t need by wagging your tongue all nice, and it was another to take a thing he didn’t want to part with unknowingly. Even Sandra, as dark and dirty as her mind had been in some regards, never stooped to outright theft. But Manu had for as long as Razlan had known him, and though he made attempts to reason the boy out of it, he ultimately grew up into a frighteningly cunning thug.
Both daughter and father dressed up in the finest clothes they had, which wasn’t much, and made their way over.
It was no longer only Deniz’s wagon that served Manu’s needs as the clan leader, but three others had been added to it, and they were reserved the best spot in camp by the bend in the river. Soon enough he’d just have an entire caravan that belonged to him. A luxurious eastern carpet was spread between the three, under an awning, serving as a place of leisure. There was always plentiful food set out in silver bowls: pastries, fruit, bread with jam, even dates and sunflower seeds. An ivory hookah was planted right in the middle, used not only by Manu, but even by couple of geese from the city. Gods knew where he got that thing, since they were illegal to make, trade, and use in Rovina. Not that authorities cared much about what happened in gypsy camps.
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No doubt many of the people around camp would be jealous tonight to see them sit down with the boss. Razlan would have liked nothing more than to be back in his drinking hole.
As they got closer, Mira came out to greet them, wearing more jewelry than clothes. A great jeweled necklace spread down from her neck like a drape to cover the obscene cleavage of her low-cut dress, while gold gleamed along her wrists and ankles as she moved. A few strands of her hair had been braided with thin silver strings, and expensive-looking trinkets dangled from their ends, ringing and clinking against one another as she moved. Razlan vaguely remembered a painting of a gypsy girl he once seen, pretty, with a lot of flowers in her hair; that would’ve been Mira, if the flowers were to be replaced with jewelry.
Her husband’s taking good care of her, he thought, and he couldn’t help but feel angered at the injustice of it all. Manu still had his wife, despite being the cause of all this suffering; meanwhile, Sandra was dead, and nothing was going to bring her back.
“Well, hello,” said Mira, smiling in welcome. “How are you two doing?”
“Manu said we should come by tonight.”
Her brows went up. “He did?”
“He didn’t mention it?”
Mira rubbed at her slightly red nose and shook her head. “No, but then again he hasn’t been home since the day before yesterday. He’s bound to show up.”
“We should go, then,” said Razlan, turning his daughter around.
“Nonsense!” she insisted. “So what if he doesn’t come? Let’s just sit down. It’s almost dinner time as it is. Sit down, Esmi, I’ll get you something nice.”
Bad enough that they had been invited here like some beggars—couldn’t he at least dignify them with his presence? Goddamn arrogant bastard. As Razlan sat there looking out at the darkly-lit river, he could feel something growing inside of him towards Manu. Something beyond mere dislike, a festering hatred that bordered on actual malevolence.
“Esmi!” Mira called out. “Can you come for a second?”
Razlan eyed his daughter. “Go.”
Left by his lonesome, he gazed at the hookah with disdain, and wondered what kind of reasonable man would not only own this kind of devilish southern contraption, but put it on display in such a garish way. Your ma and pa died way too early on you, bastard.
Razlan himself had tried to educate Manu a couple of times. First, when he discovered that the kid had nearly gotten his hand cut by one of the local lawmen after trying to steal some nails. Losing your hand over some nails—now that was stupid. Then the next time was when he had seen him fooling around with that Adda, rolling around in the grass and kissing not so far from their caravan. Even before Razlan had come to learn the finer details of that love triangle, it seemed foolish. It was plain to see on Adda’s face that she was a deeply troubled soul, the kind best left alone and treated with great care. Countless times he had told Manu to leave her be and find someone else. Lot of good that did. That hadn’t been enough for Deniz’s son. Oh no. He had to deflower the poor girl, torture her, and drive her to madness with his cold indifference while strutting around with another.
You killed my Sandra, you son of a bitch, he thought, and in moments like these before there was enough alcohol in him, Razlan could feel a cold bloodthirstiness that seemed unquenchable. He hated Manu—he hated almost everyone now, and himself most of all. He thought back to that vampire and wished to the gods that he could go back and attack him. Then they could’ve both been killed. And maybe Esmeralda could’ve been killed as well, and they would’ve all gone into the afterlife peacefully, as a family.
And that Adda… he had spoken to her tenderly, protected her as best he could, and wanted to take care of her against Sandra’s consent. And what was his thanks for that?
Killing the woman I love, as best I can recall.
The Gods may have paid back people for their good deeds, but the world sure didn’t give a damn.
If that girl believed in the gods, then she would do well to pray there would be no future meeting between them. Because if that ever happened, he would skin her alive with his bare teeth and feed her to the dogs—her and that fucking vampire she brought.
“Dad, look!” said Esmi, coming down from the steps of Manu’s main wagon, holding up a rifle. “Look at this!”
Following after her, Mira said, “Manu got it for me. Said it’s to protect myself, but I never learned how to use it.”
“He wants you to be safe.”
“He does,” she said, and genuine happiness showed on her face. “He’s sweet like that.”
Razlan did not share in her joy. “Nice to see that you’re so happy together.”
He wasn’t sure what tone he had said that in, because Mira suddenly turned towards him with unnerved look. She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder, and the unfamiliarity of that sort of tender touch, now forgotten, made him shudder. “I haven’t forgotten what happened. Neither has he. I think about it every day.”
The sudden gesture of kindness made him feel empty and ashamed. Tears came to his eyes, but he held them back. “Yeah. Me too.”
Esmi sat crosslegged next to them, running her slender brown fingers obliviously over the engravings on the stock. “It feels so nice…”
“Keep it,” said Mira.
“Are you crazy?” said Razlan, laughing for the first time. “That thing’s almost bigger than she is. She’ll shoot it once and she’ll go flying backwards faster than the rounds.”
Both he and Mira cackled, but Esmi just looked up, displeased and offended. “I won’t.”
“Maybe Manu can find you a baby rifle,” Mira suggested.
“I’m not a baby!”
Mira brought out warm food and they ate. For once, Razlan felt a bit of peace. It was easier to talk to a woman than men, in times like these. And Mira wasn’t all that bad. Not his type of person, of course, but not a bad one at all. Far beyond what Manu deserved.
Only as they were finishing up did Manu arrive, eyes bloodshot, looking dazed. “Oh, Raz… I completely forgot. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” sid Razlan, and stood up. “I think it’s time for us go anyway.”
“I hope Mira took care of you,” he said apologetically, trailing after them, searching for Razlan’s eyes.
“She did, she did. Come on, Esmi. Good night, to both of you.”
He was hurrying away from them and dragging his daughter along as fast as he could, but he could hear Manu call out after him. “Raz! Raz, come here for a second!”
Razlan glaced up at the darkening sky and then at his daughter. “Go home,” he ordered.
“But—”
“Don’t talk back to your father, Esmeralda. Go home.”
Reluctantly, he turned and headed back to Manu. They went to another one of his wagons, one which had a sturdy iron door and required a key to get in. Inside, there were chests sttacked on top of one another as far as the eye could see, as well as random items lying around: two more hookahs, some rifles, several swords, a breastplate, and, eerily enough, even a mounted goblin head.
Manu caught him staring at it. “Spooky, isn’t it? You ever see one?”
“A goblin? Who hasn’t? They aren’t as scary when their heads barely reach off the ground.”
Manu laughed heartily. “True enough.” He went to the back and dragged out a chest, saying, “You ever seen an orc?”
“Gods, no. From what I heard, I don’t think I want to.”
“You really don’t,” said Manu, and Razlan quietly pondered if the younger gypsy had actually seen one, and if so where. Most orcs were far, far too east, beyond the Great Wall in Tezhnetzoya that kept them separated from civilized folk. The white haired elves in that land were said to keep them at bay, and while some did get through on occasion, it would have been quite unlikely for them to make their way this far south without being spotted and killed beforehand.
Manu opened the chest and knocked on the lid. “Feast your eyes on these, Raz.”
Razlan glanced inside the chest and saw a bunch of glass bottles. “Potions?”
“Potions?” Manu shook his head, full of delight. “These are far more valuable than potions—at least, any potions I’ve got. Perfumes.” His fingers elegantly plucked out one of the bottles, juggled it for a moment, then opened it theatrically, bringing the rim to Razlan’s nostrils.
As much as Razlan disliked the man, the cinnamon scent that wafted up his nose was nice enough to get him to smile. “It’s nice. For Mira?”
“For Mira? I mean, she’s got one, why does she need another thirty? No, these are for you.”
Razlan was taken aback. “For me?”
“Yeah. You’ll sell them real quick. I guess it depends how many women there are in town, but the holidays are coming soon enough. And those whores in the city are always looking for whatever they can find to cover up the scent of the fat hogs that plough them on any given day.” He winked. “They’ll fetch a good price. Some are better than others, but just trust your nose.”
“And you just want to give these to me?”
“I mean, look, if you want kick anything back after you’ve sold them, you’re more than welcome to.”
I don’t want your pity, thought Razlan, and he tried to imagine what the other blue-eyed gypsy standing opposite— almost a decade younger, a bizarre mirror image of himself, just skilled and successful and immoral—thought of him. Was this actually an act of pity? Or was he just trying to buy his way out of feeling guilty?
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not good at selling things.”
“Come on, come on! Sandra could’ve sold people their own piss back to them. Of course you are.”
Merely the invocation of his wife’s name by those lips felt like a slap. “Don’t you mention her name.”
The door opened at Razlan’s back and cool night air washed into the heated interior. “Get you boys anything?” said Mira.
“No, I gotta go,” said Razlan, and stepped out of the wagon.
Manu came after him pleadingly. “You know, they’ll be there if you want them, Raz. Ask Mira if I’m gone, she’s got the key.”
Razlan set out in a quick stride, refusing to look back. “Just sell them, I don’t want them.”
“Why don’t you stay, huh? Just for a little while. We can have a drink. I’ll even play my guitar. And Mira will dance. She’s got some smooth moves, Raz…”
Razlan did not even deign to reply to that. He ignored him completely and walked on.
As Razlan disappeared in the sprawl of the camp, Manu was left standing alone in the gloomy cold. “You should’ve come if you invited them,” said Mira. All the factitious mirth from before evaporated, and all that remained was an angry and disappointed wife.
“You think I don’t know that, woman? Angering him wasn’t my intention.”
She crossed her arms and frowned. “Anger him? You angered me! And spare me all this crying over Raz. All he does is disrespect you, yet he sure seems to like you plenty when he needs money to booze it up. That he does not refuse.” The indignant hatred burned in her eyes.
Manu spoke to her gently and caressed her. “Don’t be like that,” he said, putting a loving arm around her. “Imagine if I’d be without you. I’d go crazy too.”
“He’s got a daughter to look after. Did you look at her? She looks awful. She’s not clean. Neither of them are. God knows if that girl has lice, worms, or worse.”
He sighed. “I know. What do you want me to do?”
“You know, I’m not—” She stopped herself and pursed her lips.
“You know I hate it when you do that,” he said. He stroked the golden earring dangling from earlobe. “You want to say something, say it. Have I ever slapped you around?”
“I’d slap you back if you did,” she said, incredulous that he would even bring that up. “Anyway, I don’t know. It just seems like he’s not really doing anybody any good with being around. Not even to himself. He’s just gonna end up dead. But he’s gonna ruin that little girl before he does.”
“I’m asking you again,” he said, and his tone was less warm. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying nobody would miss him if he were gone.”
“Gods, woman, you want me to fucking kill him? Have you forgotten how Sandra took care of you all the time?”
“That’s exactly why I say it. Come on. If she saw for a moment how that poor girl looks she’d grab that rifle and shoot him herself. You know that. Any mother would. Selfish prick.” Manu turned away and sighed. “And besides,” Mira continued. “I didn’t say kill him. Just, you know… Make him go away. There’s a thousand cities he can be drunk in. Send him south. Maybe that way he won’t freeze when he passes out every night.”
You’re a cruel bitch, he thought. For all the sweetness Mira could revel in, he had been surprised to find out in these last few years just how cold and calculating she could be when necessary. Suppose that’s what happens when you grow up without parents. You learn to survive.
“Nothing good will come of him, husband. You mark my words.”
“I’ve marked them,” he said, then moved a hand under her skirt and lightly smacked her butt. She gasped and bit her lip. “Now I think it’s time I mark you, you cold-blooded reptile.”
Grinning, Mira took him by the hands and led him back to their wagon.
----------------------------------------
The camp was almost completely silent under the bright and watchful stars.
Esmi hadn’t been able to get a wink of sleep since they left Manu’s place, far too excited with seeing her Orlon than anything else that happened. Not even the two leras retrieved made her as ecstatic.
When it was time, she crept out of the wagon without her father seeing, went into town, and approached the Red Bear as instructed, doing her best to avoid the torch-bearing patrols in town. On the way there she worried the guards at the gate might stop her; but once she got to the place, there was no one at their post and the gate was closed.
Nudging it out of curiosity, she found it open.
Pleased with this good fortune, Esmi went around the building and tried to find the door in the back. Beating a rug outside, she saw none other than Orlon.
He saw her and his eyebrows went up in surprise. “You came. You actually came.”
“Was I not supposed to?”
“Of course! It’s just that few people can wake up at this hour. Come on.”
He led her back inside into an area overflowing with bags of spices, smoked meats, pickled vegetables, blocks of cheese, dried fruit, and entire kegs of booze. The door opened and a fat, red-faced man stepped through, the little dark gray hair on his head all wild. He squinted at Esmi. She tensed at once, thinking it was all over. This guy was going to whack her across the head and kick her out for being a gypsy. “Who’s she?”
“My friend.”
The fat man came and threatened her with a thick, hairy finger. “Don’t you steal anything.” Then he grabbed one of the big round cheeses lying on the table and wandered off.
“My father,” said Orlon. “He means well. Come, I’ll give you a tour.”
From the storage area they walked into a kitchen, now empty, which had a staircase leading down into the basement and another door opening up to the main area of the establishment.
“Are your feet clean?” said Orlon.
Esmi glanced at her heels and shrugged. He made a face, then took her back to the storage room and scrubbed the undersides of her shoes as best he could. They were old enough that they were nearly falling apart. “There.”
“Those are probably cleaner than I’ve ever been.”
He smiled. “I’m good at this.” She blushed.
Through the kitchen they got into the main room of the tavern, the sight of which caused Esmi to stop in amazement. She had been to many places since they were given access through the town, and some shops had quite delightful, cozy interiors. But nothing could have prepared her for what she saw here: polished floors as reflective as a blade, high paneled ceilings, and a richly-patterned wallpaper covering the upper half of each wall. There was a deep luster on everything and almost every piece of wood was carefully carved to make the decoration as ostentatious as possible.
The bar was long, with upholstered seats, and right behind it was an array of gleaming bottles more extensive than anything she had ever laid eyes on. Overlooking the carpeted staircase on the first landing, she could see the a mounted troll head, fat and sallow-skinned, with small beady eyes trying to nudge through rolls of ugly fat. “This is amazing…”
“Like I said,” said Orlon. “You get used to it.”
At the tables where clients ate during the day, the staff were seated now, men and women of differing ages eating, drinking, playing cards, tossing dice, a few of them still busily going around wiping dust and scrubbing the floor. Esmi could see them looking at her warily, at which point Orlon grabbed her by the arm and led her upstairs.
A long corridor stretched and ended in a colored round window. There were laterns here, still burning, and between each door there was at least one, if not several oil paintings, depicting everything from orcs slain by great warriors, ships bravely smashing against waves in storms, and kidnapped, naked slavegirls made to perform at southern slave markets.
“This is where the entertainers live.”
“Entertainers? You mean the whores?”
Orlon looked away shyly. “Yes.”
“Where do you sleep?”
“We don’t sleep here,” he explained. “Only they do.”
As they crept around, a door opened and a face appeared in the soft lanternlight. “Orlon, is you?” said a thickly accented, barely intelligible voice.
“Yes, Miss Ottillie,” he said, rushing to her at the ready.
“They have ham and cheese? Bread?” Thinking of each word and pronouncing it seemed a painful expression to her. Clearly, their eastern tongue was not to her liking.
“The bread would be from yesterday.”
Ottillie thought it over. “Foget eet,” she spat, losing control of her eastern tongue entirely. She was a beautiful girl wearing several layers of makeup, with large blue eyes, and an explosion of ginger locks tumbling way past her shoulders. “You who are?” she said, and Esmi realized it was her the ginger was addressing.
“Esmeralda,” she said.
“Esmeralda. Card gypsy?”
Esmi was impressed. “You’ve heard of me.”
“One client talk you. Not happy.”
“Oh. Well.”
Ottillie pointed a finger at her chest. “You read me?”
“I don’t have cards.”
Before she could protest fiercely enough, Ottillie took her by the arm and pulled her into her room. It was a small space, but even more lovely than the hallways and area downstairs, intricately decorated, with glowing, star-shaped paper lamps hanging from the ceiling painted to look like a night sky, with a bed large enough to accommodate the tallest and fattest of clients, and enchantingly beautiful smells hanging thickly in the air. Just that sweet, musky smell alone made Esmi head tingle.
Lying open on the table, Esmi saw a box of jewelry: necklaces, earrings, bracelets—all kinds of things. Next to it was a candleholder, several bottles of perfume, some wine, a small bowl with rasins, and another wooden box, this one closed. What did this lady treasure more than actual treasure? But what caught Esmi’s eyes most of all was the unnaturally gleaming brooch on her chest.
“That’s magic?” she said, pointing to it.
“Buy in Azzuretto, yes. For protect.”
“What does it do?”
Ottillie giggled happily. “If say, no protect.”
Esmi took her point. “Ottillie is from Rejovoux,” said Orlon.
“That’s far…”
“Bad place,” said Ottillie, overhearing them. She went over to the desk and opened the closed box, which appeared to hold only cigars. She plucked one one out lit it over the candle. She took a long drag, and blew the smoke calmly. “Many people. Betray, jealous, greedy—bad.”
“That is bad,” said Esmi.
“Full of vampire, Rejovoux. Danger for Ottiellie. For pretty girls.”
The happy mood was suddenly drained from her with that one word. A coolness spread through Esmi. “Vampires?”
Ottillie opened the window and blew the next lungful of smoke outside. “Vampire drink blood. From people.”
“I know that!” she said, a little too harshly. “I met one. But he didn’t drink nobody. Just killed you.”
Orlon gave her a look, as if he suspected she was lying and that it would not be good to lie to this specific woman. “You met one?”
“Yes,” said Esmi. “Attacked us three years ago. I was only ten. Killed four people. Killed my mom.”
Ottillie offered her a puff from her cigar. Esmi shook her head. She took another puff herself and crossed her arms, looking out at the moon through the window. “My cousin become vampire. Then hunted. Now dead.”
“He was a vampire?!”
“Made into vampire by man she meet—her dead, his dead.”
It was difficult to follow along with everything she was saying but Esmi was too interested to stop. “How do you kill one?”
“Hunter kill. But young vampire easy—like rats. They in…” She attempted to gesticulate something to have a word produced by them, but gave up. “Old vampire—danger. Even hunter afraid.”
“They have vampire hunters over there,” said Orlon. “I’ve heard of them.”
Vampire hunters? There were vampire hunters somewhere? Esmi thought the room was spinning with her. Why hadn’t anybody told her? She would’ve gone to see them right away!
“How far is it to Rejovoux?!”
“Weeks,” said Orlon. “Though there’s wars in both the realms that divide us from it.”
“Can’t you just sail?”
“And get kidnapped? Sold as a slave? I’d rather try my odds on the battlefield.”
“I could tell them about the vampire that killed my mom, though.”
Orlon pursed his lips thoughtfully. “True. But assuming he’s not already dead, it’s not like he’s going anywhere—he’s immortal. Besides, he didn’t do that stuff there, did he? I doubt they’ll travel all this way just to kill one vampire.”
Ottillie ignored them and enjoyed her cigar, wholly at peace. Somewhere in town, a few dogs were barking. “Rovina good. Only gypsy. Stupid goblin. No vampire. No mage. No good competition. Is good.” Why gypsies were listed with goblins and vampires there was no way of knowing, but she seemed somewhat delusional about how safe it actually was here.
“I wouldn’t be too sure,” said Esmi.
Smiling, Ottillie came over and raised her chin gently with a very long-nailed finger. “You know lesson when come to Rovina?”
Esmi grimaced. “What? I can’t understand you. You’re need to learn our language, lady.”
Ottillie grinned and pressed on her nose, and did so again at every word that followed: “Never. Trust. Gypsy.”