Chapter 28

Day Three – Forenoon

It was too soon for the doors of The Red Carpet to be open yet. Heading over from Yesilian Street, Zaber’s steps were slow and his face dark. He wasn’t looking forward to the conversation ahead of him, but he promised to come. There was no way for this to end well…

Two knocks later, Ruwer’s blue eyes, uptwirling mustache and gray hair popped up behind the colored glass of the door. Two ‘clicks’ and ‘clacks’ later, and the lock, and thus door, were open. “Greetings,” said the old muscle. “Thanks for helping out.”

Zaber and Ruwer nodded at each other in mutual respect.

“Just ran into it,” replied the greasy and unkempt man as he stepped into the taproom. Not much had changed here in four years. Broken furniture was replaced. Some curiously shaped decorations and raunchy drawings came and went. And the smell… never changed.

“Aye, the usual,” smiled Ruwer. He didn’t wear his tailored gambeson or jack-chains. Walking aside, he sat down on his little chair next to the door. He picked up a needle and thread to mend something inside his feathered hat.

“’aight, I’m here,” said Zaber, walking up to the counter where nobody worked right now. During these hours, no new customers were allowed to come in. Only those who had booked a room overnight were inside the big house. Until noon went by, working folk rested, and the first men flowed in. Zaber was still armed, and nobody seemed to care.

The room was mostly filled with children under the age of ten, running around, yelling and playing. Only two mothers were here, Geda and Lossa, who ran around in their most covering undergarments. The way customers would never see them.

Marghe was clothed in a lavish teal dress, adorned with red bands and ribbons. Her flowing strawberry blonde hair looked a bit more ruffled than previously. She leaned onto her hands at the table. Unbothered by the loud children, she listened to another woman who sat with her.

“Hello to you too,” said Marghe, and looked at Zaber. Her girls and some of the kids waved at Zaber, which he returned without much enthusiasm. “Come over,” she smiled and patted a chair next to her. “I need to finish this business first.”

“’aight,” said Zaber and walked through the room, dodging a running child on the way. His thumbs were inside of his belt until he got to the seat next to Marghe. He moved it a bit further away from her, even though he was unfazed by the amount of shoulders and bosom exposed. Tense as he was, always, Zaber didn’t feel uncomfortable.

“And can you stop acting like a sulky toddler?” added Marghe, turning back towards the old woman that she shared a table with. “We have enough of those around.”

“Defiler,” greeted the old woman. She wore dirty gray clothes with a white cloak around her shoulders and a simple coif. Around her neck, a tarnished silver necklace of the White Sister peeked out.

“Hag,” answered Zaber, leaned back and waited for his turn.

The woman was indeed haggard, with bony fingers and the face of a lifetime. And she reeked of cheap wine. Her nod to Zaber ended her attention towards him, and she returned her unsteady gaze to Marghe. “The child needs to be kept in a separate room until the White Sister shows her full gown. If any of the other children cough, lock them away too,” said the old woman and pulled up a leather bag from beneath the table. “Only broth and roots for the lass. And burdock brew.”

“I don’t know if I can keep her mother away, Rughert,” said Marghe and grabbed the hot brew in front of her, taking a sip. “What if any of my girls get it?”

“I don’t care.” Rughert coughed onto her fist, leaving dark marks. “Lock her in, swallow the key. I blessed your girls, for how much it is still worth. They should be safe.”

“Dear, you look like a wandering corpse these days,” sighed Marghe and tried to reach for the old woman’s hands, who denied her. “What happened about getting an appr–”

“Well, you look like the talk of town,” interrupted Rughert. “There’ll be no apprentice. My shame dies with me.”

“You dumb old hag!” hissed Marghe and grabbed the old woman’s hands by force, to see how much they trembled. “Westwatch needs you.”

Hearing the madam throughout the taproom, the children began to chant ‘dumb old hag’, supported by Geda and Lossa. It was so obnoxious that even Zaber couldn’t think about his upcoming plans anymore. Or how to talk to Marghe about them. The two women at the table weren’t bothered by the children, as if they didn’t exist. But the veteran’s gaze lingered on them. After a long breath, he smiled. He looked back at Marghe, noticing how her lips curled the way that only happened when she was angry. And she was right. There was no other affordable physician than this disgraced Sister of the Stars.

“A dirty whore’s opinion.” Rughert went back to rummage through her leather bag, disregarding the owner of this establishment. “As always,” she said and put a vial of dark brown extract in front of her. “Black cohosh; for you.”

Marghe closed her eyes, calmed down and took the medicine. “Thank you,” she uttered. “What about Brielle?” She took another sip, looking up the stairs to the flower rooms. Her gaze fell on Zaber for just a moment, and a faint smile flared up. “She’s still early, the usual–”

“Leave the diagnosis to me,” interrupted the hag, coughing again. It developed into a coughing fit for a moment, but she didn’t let Marghe touch her in any way. “I don’t tell you about whoring either.” Rughert pushed the madam’s hands away. “You still have plenty of birthwort. Tighten her girdle, make her fast for a few of days and send her to Vaul in Rygen. He knows and will accept her help for some hard labor.”

“I know,” sighed Marghe, grunting even. “That is the usual.”

“Well, if you know so much better, I’ll leave now,” said the disgraced sister, stood up, sat down again and coughed some more. She held tight to the sleeves of her robes until she was done and finished packing up her bag. “We’ll see each other in ten days.”

Standing up and laying her arms around the reeking old hag, Marghe whispered something into her ear that Zaber wasn’t able to hear. Nor did he try.

“’til ten days,” smiled Marghe. “As always.”

The old woman straightened her robes and fixed her coif. When she walked outside, she nearly ran into a couple of chairs and tables and only made it to the door with Ruwer’s help. The veteran guildsword unlocked the door for her and slipped a bottle of white wine into her bag. Everyone saw it, but nobody said anything.

The taproom of The Red Carpet was cleaned every morning by the children of those who worked here. After that, it was all theirs for the day. When the establishment opened, they were let loose into the streets of Westwatch. There was also a small shack around the house that led into a staired back entrance. When Zaber saw these little scoundrels, he always had the same thought about them: they might be bastards with nothing to inherit, but they did not have to work in their family’s business or the fields. In some way, these were the freest children in Teblen.

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There was no true silence in this room, but there was between Zaber and Marghe. No matter how long she looked at him, how much she pushed him with her eyes – the veteran said nothing. “So–” Marghe lingered on her words. “Sagir?”

“Not here,” said Zaber, but did not move.

Standing in front of the table, Marghe stared at the veteran frustrated. “Does Your Highness need to be carried?” Her eyes urged Zaber. “Get up, let’s move to the Prince’s Suite.”

Zaber got up, grunting, and followed Marghe to the side-room next to the stage on the other side of the counter. Even though gambling was common in the taproom itself, Ruwer had an eye on too high sums being thrown around. A patrician or well-heeled artisan could quickly get their arse handed to them if they just out-spent the usual customer who wasted away in the brothel.

For that purpose, Marghe’s mother had established the Prince’s Suite. She also let some of the dealers and shakers of Westwatch do serious business inside of it, as a kind of neutral ground. When the Yesilians who helped keep The Red Carpet peaceful needed to deal with the Red Mob. Or if the Morells wanted to talk to any of these groups. Even masters of the Guild’s Council sometimes showed up there and Asher used it on the regular. As long as it meant peace, Marghe would cooperate with anyone.

The suite itself was a cozy room with a giant round table in the center. Carved legs and edges depicting all sorts of tits, arses and cunts. The curiosities that filled the room were far from tasteful, and everybody seemed to love them. Cocks carved from deer antler, small statues of naked saints in salacious positions and bare-chested paintings of the most popular girls who had ever worked there. Including Marghe and her mother.

“Can you stop it now?” asked Marghe, as she closed the door behind Zaber. She sat on the table and crossed her legs, waiting for an answer.

“What? I ain’t–” The greasy and unkempt man leaned against the wall, minding none of the decoration.

“Acting like a stubborn stupid ass,” interrupted Marghe. Her hands were open towards the veteran, as were her eyes. “Please? It’s too early to fill you up. This once, act like the man I know you are.”

Zaber’s brows were narrowed and the muscles on his jaw twitched. Scratching the scar on it, he ran his hand upwards and took off the arming cap. “’aight,” he said, pulled a chair from the table and sat right in front of Marghe, looking up into her eyes. “This’ goodbye.”

Closing her eyes, sighing and folding her hands, Marghe returned the look. “What is that even supposed to mean?” she responded with a hint of frustration. “I only know that Sagir was arrested and that Hanifa is busy.”

“I fucked up,” said the veteran, looking at the ground in front of the madam’s feet. “Killed a guard two days ago. Smashed his head with Dalke’s broom.” Looking up again, his hands landed on his knees, crawling towards Marghe’s, but never reaching her. “They’re pinning it on Sagir to make me move. I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

Marghe pressed her lips together, biting them, then shook her head. “That doesn’t mean you have to go. You can–”

“I ain’t,” interrupted Zaber. “But Sagir has to. I’ll break him out and take him home.”

“Home?” pressed Marghe, kicking Zaber lightly from the height of the table. “I told you to speak like a human. A real boy.”

Narrowing his eyes, Zaber’s stare changed. “You know I don’t like that.”

“Yes,” said Marghe, high pitched. “Stop being an ass.”

“I’ll take him to Yesilia, where he belongs,” replied Zaber, softening again. “With some more Yesilians who’ll help me and Torm. Asher and my other comrades will help me too.”

“This is ridiculous.” Marghe put her hands on her forehead, turning her head towards the ceiling. “Stop being ridiculous. The whole city will turn on you, do you really believe in these silly rumors yourself now?”

“I have the perfect plan,” said Zaber and a faint smile formed. “I promised Hanifa. And I promised Cey–”

“You did not promise that to Ceyhan,” hissed Marghe, curling her lips and looking down again. “I was in the room. You and Asher were wasted, everyone was. You told him you would make good for what you did to his kin.” She leaned forward, grabbed the veteran’s shoulder with one hand and shook him. “You. Did. Not. Kill. Him.”

“Men like him are here because of men like me,” said Zaber, laying a hand on Marghe’s. But he did not have the strength to push her away. “Hanifa and their council agree. This is going to happen.”

“What–” The madam leaned even further towards Zaber and put her other hand on his other shoulder. “What if I ask you not to?”

“It–” Zaber halted, scratching the scar along his jaw. “It won’t matter. I have to do this.”

“No you don’t,” replied Marghe, letting go of Zaber. She stood up and walked through the room, flailing her hands up and down, looking for words. “Whatever is going on with you in that temple, you do not need to do this. You can make any decision you want to.” Her eyes stopped at the picture of her mother. “Why don’t you even try to be better? I know it’s hard, but–” She turned around, with soft eyes and unsteady breath. “Westwatch needs you.”

“No,” said Zaber and got up. “This is me trying to be better. And–” There was no strength in his legs to walk away. Nor to approach Marghe. Zaber just stood there, rested his hands close to his weapons. “I promise I’ll not forget you. Or anyone.”

“I know.” The madam pulled up a chair and sat down, slouched and resting her arms on the table. “If drunken Zaber has taught me one thing about sober Zaber, it’s that he doesn’t forget.”

“Goodbye.” The greasy and unkempt man showed no emotions. Just nodded. “Tell Salm and the fellas.”

“Please, come back,” uttered Marghe. “If you can’t do anything, at least come back. I can hide you, or you could live in Elandis on the other side of the river. Just–”

Neither of them moved, nor looked at each other. The children’s yells and laughter sounded through the walls. Marghe knew that if she yelled, her girls would hear her and Ruwer might knock on the door to check. Everyone around her was stupid and nobody got what’s best. Nobody ever fucking listened to her, in this – her – establishment.

“I thought we were friends,” said Marghe when she finally looked up. “And that you’d do anything for your friends.”

“I’ll survive,” said Zaber. He stepped next to the table and reached for Marghe’s hand, but only placed it next to her. “There’ll be something for you. In the woods north, I’ll bury something for you and the girls. I’ll try to–” The veteran turned around and walked to the door. “I’ll write you.”

When Zaber opened the door, Geda fell into him. Two children were right next to her, staring at Zaber in shock. When he moved out, they ran away, screaming. Geda smiled sheepishly at the veteran, but looked focused on Marghe. The greasy and unkempt man’s boots sounded heavy when he made way to the exit. His and Ruwer’s eyes met each other half-way and the old guildsword hesitated to get out the keys to let Zaber out.

“Don’t die a fool,” nodded Ruwer.

Zaber nodded back. “Do your job.”