Daniel Polansky - Low Town

I was standing in front of the entrance to a red brick row house north of downtown, near Kor’s Heights and the palatial estates of the nobility. Modest and unassuming, there was little besides Yancey’s word to confirm it as one of the most expensive brothels in the city. Low Town whores ply their trade honestly, uncovered bosoms peaking through red curtains, propositions tossed from open windows. Here it was different. Next to the ash-colored door there was a bronze plate with THE VELVET HUTCH engraved on it.

I knocked firmly, and after a short pause it opened to reveal a fair-skinned woman in a comely but modest blue dress. She had dark hair and bright blue eyes, and offered a fetching smile, well-practiced this side of mercenary. “Can I help you?” she asked, her voice sweet and clear.

“I’m here to see Mairi,” I said.

Her lips curved down in disappointment. I was impressed with her ability to convey warmth and condescension in equal measure. “I’m afraid Mairi doesn’t see many people, and those she does, she’s seen for a long time. In fact, no one in the house is interested in meeting new friends right now.”

I cut in before she could close the door in my face. “Could you tell the mistress that Yancey’s friend is outside? She should be expecting me.”

Her smile seemed a bit more natural after I mentioned the Rhymer. “I’ll see if she’s available.”

I thought about rolling up a cigarette but decided it might show a lack of class. Instead I rubbed my hands together in a futile effort to keep warm. When the door swung back open a few minutes later the dark-haired girl had swapped genial disregard for sultry welcome.

“Mairi has a few moments. Please, come in.”

I stepped into an elegant hallway, tiled marble floors leading to a staircase draped in red velvet and flanked by ebony banisters. A very large, very dim-looking man in a well-tailored suit sized me up discreetly from beside the entrance, unarmed save for fists the size of ham hocks. I had no doubt they’d do in a pinch.

The pretty greeter stood at the foot of the steps, hands clasped behind her back. “If you’ll follow me please, the mistress is just this way.”

I tried without success to avoid staring at her bottom as she climbed the stairs ahead of me. I wondered how old she was, and how she came about her employment. I supposed there were worse ways to make money-it beat working the line at a mill ten hours a day or serving tables at some Low Town dive. Still, lying on your back is lying on your back, even if the sheets beneath you are made of silk.

We took a right at the top and followed a narrow hallway past a row of bedrooms, ending in front of an oak door, gilded slightly to distinguish it from the others. The girl knocked lightly. A throaty voice from inside beckoned us onward, and my guide opened the door ahead of me.

The room centered, perhaps not shockingly, on a sumptuous four-poster bed draped in white lace. Everything about the interior spoke of old money and refined taste, more the bedchamber of a duchess than a whore’s boudoir. Seated at a dressing table in the corner was the woman I assumed to be Mairi the Dark-eyed.

Given the mental image engendered by Yancey’s introduction, I have to say I found myself underwhelmed. She was a raven-haired Tarasaihgn, south of middle age but not by much. Quite handsome, even with the few added pounds she carried about her midsection-but not beautiful, certainly not exceptionally so. Between the two of them I would have preferred the greeter, younger and firmer as she was.

But then Mairi turned toward me and I saw her eyes, dark pools of sable that held my attention longer than etiquette strictly allowed, and suddenly I couldn’t understand what had ever possessed me to compare the woman before me to the girl who had led me to her. My mouth was dry. I tried not to lick my lips.

In one smooth motion Mairi rose from her throne and narrowed the distance between us, offering her hand with a casual air. “Thank you, Rajel, that’ll be all,” Mairi said in unaccented Nestriann. Rajel curtsied and left, closing the door behind her. Mairi stood silently, letting me inspect the wares before beginning her pitch.

“Do you speak Nestriann?” she began.

“Never had an ear for it.”

“Really?” She stared into my eyes, then broke out into a full-throated laugh, like the song of a bullfrog. “I think you’re lying.”

She was right-I spoke Nestriann, not like a native but well enough to avoid getting mugged on the way to the Cathedrale Daeva Maletus. The first year and a half of the war my sector of the trenches had run into Nestriann lines. They were a decent bunch of fellows, for mud-rutting serfs. Their captain had broken down and wept when he found out his generals had signed a separate armistice-but then, odium and incompetence on the part of the higher-ups were pretty universal during our unfortunate conflict.

She fluttered her lashes and smiled. “You realize you’ve told me more by lying than you would by answering truthfully.”

“And what did I tell you?”

“That deceit comes more naturally to you than honesty.”

“Maybe I’m just trying to fit in with my surroundings-or was every moan that ever echoed off these walls authentic?”

“Every. Single. One.” She held each word for a long beat. A bar sat in the corner, and from a decanter on top of it she poured smoky liquid into two glasses, then handed one to me. “What shall we drink to?” she asked in a tone just short of lewd.

“To the health of the Queen and the prosperity of her subjects.”

The old blessing was an awkward transition, but she was enough of a professional to roll with it. “To the health of the Queen and the fertility of her land.” I took a taste. It was good, very good.

Mairi perched herself on a red leather couch and motioned me toward the divan across from it. I followed her direction and we sat facing each other, our legs nearly touching. “How do you know Yancey?” she asked.

“How does anyone know anyone? You meet people, in my business.”

“And what business is that exactly?”

“I solicit funds for war widows and orphans. On off days I nurse abandoned puppies.”

“What an astonishing coincidence! That’s the very same line of work we pursue.”

“I suppose your kennels are in the basement.”

“Where do you keep your orphans?”

I chuckled and sipped at my drink.

Her mouth curled upward and she caressed me with soot-black eyes. “I know who you are, of course. I made inquiries after I heard from the Rhymer.”

“Did you now?”

“I had no idea, when Yancey spoke of you, that I’d be given the opportunity to meet such a famed underworld figure.”

I let that one hang in the air between us. She missed the hint and pressed onward, confident I was enjoying her buildup.

“I always wondered what had happened to Mad Edward and the rest of his people. Imagine my surprise to discover that the man who ended syndicate presence in Low Town was coming to pay me an afternoon visit.”

Mairi’s sources were good. There were only a half-dozen people who’d ever known the truth of what had happened to Mad Edward’s mob, and two of them were dead. I’d have to figure out which of the remaining four were running off at the mouth.

The tip of her tongue scanned the lower half of her lip. “Imagine my excitement.”

It is one of the relatively few advantages of being quite physically misshapen that you can generally dismiss honest arousal as a reason for a woman’s advances. In Mairi’s case, I’m not sure there was even a purpose-at bottom I suspect she just didn’t remember how to turn it off. The whole thing felt sour, my witty banter and her clockwork response to it.