The Skull Throne

“So do I,” Leesha said.

“She’s a Weed Gatherer,” Jizell said. “What more is there to say?”

“Ay, what of it?” Rojer snapped. “I don’t see the ripping difference. You both threaten to drug my tea, and mean it.”

“Ay, an Herb Gatherer will use her skill to bully someone that needs bullying,” Jizell said. “But their primary purpose is to heal and help. Weed Gatherers are the other way around.”

“Not to mention they’re all whores,” Vika said.

“Vika!” Leesha snapped.

Vika stiffened, but she did not back down. “Apologies, Mistress Leesha, but it’s honest word. Almost every brothel in the city is run by a Weed Gatherer. Usually apothecary shops with rooms upstairs where they sell more than cures.”

“Most of them were apprentices of Mistress Jessa at one time or another,” Jizell said, “and she takes a cut. Richest woman in the city short of the Duchess Mum, but it’s dirty money, earned off the marriages they destroy.”

Kadie brought the tea, and Jizell paused to add honey, stirring thoughtfully. “Bruna had already taken me on as apprentice and did not want another, but Duchess Araine insisted she take Jessa as well. The girl was gifted, but less interested in healing than aphrodisiacs and poison. Little did we know Araine was grooming her to run a private brothel for her sons. A way for them to remain under her control even when they were out being men.”

“It is why the dama’ting created the jiwah’Sharum,” Amanvah noted, “though my people honor such women, and accept the children they bear.”

“Well not here,” Jizell said. “Men can’t be expected to keep to their wives when there’s a brothel in every part of town. You can blame the drunk for pissing on your doorstep, but it’s the bartender who put the drink in their hand.”

“And that’s why Bruna cast her out?” Leesha asked.

Jizell shook her head. “She wanted the recipe for liquid demonfire. When Bruna refused to teach it to her, she tried to steal it.”

Leesha’s eyes widened. Any Gatherer worth the name knew something of the secrets of fire, but Bruna had claimed to be the last to know how to create that infernal brew. The old woman had kept it close for more than a hundred years, never teaching it to her apprentices. It was only when she felt the knowledge might be lost forever that she decided to teach it to Leesha.

“Why did you never tell me any of this before?” Leesha asked.

“Because it didn’t concern you,” Jizell said. “But now, if you have to deal with that lying witch …”

“I think it’s time I met Mistress Jessa,” Leesha said.

“We can go now, if you like,” Rojer said. “Set this whole thing to rest.”

“Isn’t it a bit late?” Leesha asked. “The sun is long set.”

Rojer laughed. “They’re only just stirring now, and expecting guests until the dawn.”

Leesha turned to him. “You mean to take us to the brothel?”

Rojer shrugged. “Of course.”

“Can’t we just meet at her home?” Leesha asked.

“That is her home,” Rojer said.

“Now just a minute!” Gared said. “Can’t be taking women to a place like that!”

“Why not?” Rojer asked. “It’s full of women anyway.”

Gared blushed, balling one of his giant fists. “Ent taking Leesha to some … some …”

“Gared Cutter!” Leesha snapped. “You may be a baron now, but I won’t have you telling me where I can and can’t go!”

Gared looked at her in surprise. “I was just …”

“I know what you were doing,” Leesha cut in. “Your heart’s in the right place, but your mouth isn’t. I’ll go where I please, and that goes for Wonda, too.”

“This should be fun,” Kendall said. “I know a dozen songs about Angierian whorehouses, but I never thought I’d get to see one.”

“And you shan’t. A heasah pillow house is no place for Jiwah Sen,” Amanvah glanced at Coliv, “or Sharum.”

“Ay, Wonda gets to go!” Kendall started, but Sikvah hissed at her, and she fell back with a huff, crossing her arms.

Amanvah turned to Rojer. “But you would think your Jiwah Ka a fool, husband, if you think I will let you enter such a place without me.”

To Leesha’s surprise, Rojer bowed to his wife. “Of course. Please know that I was a child in my time there, and a child only. It was never a place of passion for me.”

Amanvah nodded. “And it never shall be.”

“Dama’ting, I must …” Coliv began.

“You must do as you are told, Sharum.” Amanvah’s voice was cold. “I have cast the alagai hora. I am in no danger this night.” The Watcher did not protest further.

“No carriages,” Rojer said, as they exited Jizell’s hospit from the rear entrance.

Leesha looked at him curiously. “Why not? There’s no law that says we can’t ride at night.”

“Ay, but none actually do,” Rojer said. “Our passage will be noticed, and we’re going someplace we’ve no business going.”

“I thought you said the brothel was a secret,” Leesha said. “If no one knows it’s there …”

“Then they’ll see Hollower carriages at the doors of Mistress Jessa’s Finishing School for Talented Young Ladies,” Rojer said. “Which will be curiouser still.”

“What’s a finishing school?” Wonda asked.

“A place where young women are taught how to hook rich husbands,” Rojer said.

Indeed, the boardwalk was empty as Leesha, Wonda, Amanvah, and Gared followed Rojer along the twisting streets of Angiers, cutting through alleyways and keeping to the shadows.

Not that there were many places they could be spotted. There were no wardlights, and the streetlamps were few and far between, save in the most affluent neighborhoods.

They moved swiftly in spite of the darkness, seeing more clearly in wardsight than they did in day. All of them wore Cloaks of Unsight save Amanvah, who had stitched the wards in silver into her robes.

“Eerie, how quiet it is,” Wonda noted. “Shops’d still be open in the Hollow this time of night.”

“The Hollow doesn’t have holes in its wardnet big enough to let wind demons in,” Rojer said. “Only ones out on the street tonight are guards, us, and the homeless.”

“Homeless?” Wonda asked. “You mean they put poor folk out at night?”

“More like won’t let them in, but ay,” Rojer said. “I thought it just the way of things, growing up here. Wasn’t till I started playing the hamlets that I saw how evil it was.”

As if on cue, there was a crack and part of the wardnet above flared to life. A wind demon had flown too low, bouncing off the wards. The lines of protection spiderwebbed like lightning through the sky for just an instant, but Leesha could see holes big enough for the demon to fit.

The demon saw them, too. It hovered, great leathern wings flapping powerfully as it recovered from the shock. Then it dove, cutting cleanly through the net and sweeping down through the streets, searching for prey.