Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) (61 page)

There was something seriously amiss about “Lady Pleasure”, Pentandra knew, something powerful and potentially dangerous.  She needed to get to the bottom of it, and her impressionable apprentice would simply have to overcome the ordeal. 

It wasn’t like she was going to see anything scandalous, Pentandra decided.

Alurra was waiting at the front of the palace with the borrowed coach – one of the perquisites of being a senior officer of the court was access to such perquisites.  The cool spring evening air promised rain tomorrow but tonight the stars shone through the cloudless sky as brightly as magelights overhead.  Pentandra inhaled deeply, the scent of spruce and juniper and pine from beyond the walls cutting through the woodsmoke and less pleasant smells of Vorone. 

The breath was deep and cleansing, and as she exhaled she realized for the first time that she actually
liked
it, here, in Vorone. 

She, Pentandra anna Benurvial – no, she, Pentandra,
Ducal Court Wizard of Alshar,
she corrected in her mind – the pampered daughter of a decadent house of Remeran magi, accustomed to refinement and sophistication, felt
at peace
here in the wilderness. 

Where she had once worried that the amenities of Vorone would not meet her expectations, she found herself now looking forward to a life in this strange and rustic place.  If she was going to be a court wizard, this was a nice court to be attached to.

That brought her a quiet strength and resolve, as the carriage rumbled forward and she prepared to get into a shouting match with an aging whore.

Life in Vorone was many things for Pentandra.  Boring was not among them.

Chapter Twenty–One

The House Of Flowers

During the short coach ride to the infamous Perfume Street, Pentandra did her best to prepare Alurra for what she might experience at the brothel . . . starting with explaining what a brothel
was.

And then explaining to her what a
prostitute
was.

And then explaining to her what
prostitution
was, and why men (and a few women) were willing to pay good coin for the experience.

And then explaining to her some of the more
basic
truths about men.

As Pentandra’s exasperation grew with the length of her explanation, she realized that the challenge here was not Alurra’s blindness, it was her hopeless naiveté.  She was a young girl from a remote and unsophisticated Wilderlands culture, one whose usual rules of sexuality (and nearly every other part of life) had been disrupted by the damn goblin invasion. 

She’d been raised by an old woman, protected by an ignorant rural society that had thoughtfully taken account of her disability . . . and had left Alurra,  therefore, woefully ignorant of the facts of life.  Pentandra found herself explaining some very basic matters to her, while making mental notes of future discussions.

By the time the coach arrived at the House of Flowers, Pentandra realized that she would be instructing the Wilderlands girl in the arts of womanhood as much as she would be the magical arts.

“. . . but we’ll continue this discussion later,” she said, when the groom announced their arrival.  “For now, keep silent, attend me, and don’t do or touch
anything
.  Understood?”

“Understood, Mistress,” Alurra said, biting her lip with determination.  “Do I look presentable?”

No, you look like a backwoods wilding orphan girl who never heard of a comb
, Pentandra wanted to say. 

In truth, a few days of palace livery had cleaned up and fed the girl so that she at least looked healthy, now.  Her dress was clean, if worn, and slightly too large for her; her mantle had been laundered and patched, and she had found some cloth slippers somewhere - Pentandra guessed Castellan Bircei was responsible for that. 

But Alurra still looked more like a beggar waif than a professional apprentice.  Her hair, in particular, was a mess.  It needed some serious care.  At the moment it looked like a perfect place for Lucky to stash shiny things and bits of string.

There was no time to do anything about that now, though.  “You look
fine
, dear.  Like a magi’s apprentice. “  That made the girl beam.  Thank the gods she couldn’t see herself.

As it turned out, Alurra’s blindness proved a blessing again as the door opened and they were confronted by the reality of the Hall of Flowers.

The old mansion had clearly undergone a revival and reconstruction.  The three story edifice had been draped in banners, and pots and planters scattered everywhere were bursting with spring flowers.  Sweet-smelling incense was burning somewhere – sandalwood, lepry and goss, from what Pentandra could tell – and the second floor balcony was occupied by a quartet of musicians playing lively dance music on a tambour, flute, and two guitars. 

The house had been painted recently and the walkway leading to the door had been swept to a pristine state.  Torches lined the walkway and the garden, and a merry fire had been set in a brazier, adding the dancing illumination of its flames to the scene.  Somewhere someone was cooking something delicious, too, her nose reminded her.

But it was her eyes that were captivated.  There were beautiful young women
everywhere
she looked, as ubiquitous as wildflowers in a meadow.  On the front walk Pentandra walked by three of them dancing together for the amusement of a pair of gentlemen, while a dozen others mingled and laughed with their own callers and patrons in the front garden.  Each maiden wore a pretty but simple dress of green, without an under tunic, and bore a flower pinned to their breast. 

But that was as exotic as their garb went.  Pentandra knew the madame at The Bluest Sky in Wenshar would have been scandalized at the wasted opportunity to display the wares of the girls.

That disturbed Pentandra.  She
knew
whores.  Whores did their best to
flaunt
their sexuality, not conceal it.  They often went as far in their displays as local standards allowed, but they did not dress the same.  Ever.  Human intersexual attraction dictated that women distinguish themselves to attract a mate’s attention, Pentandra knew with the certainty of the Law of Gravity or Motion.  Nor did normal whores dress at all demurely.  They revealed as much of their skin as possible, to fool the male eye into believing their fertility.  And they frequently flashed their privates to potential customers when the Watch wasn’t looking.

Yet these girls were acting as demurely as if they were at court, themselves.  Perhaps more.  But while the approach did not favor the traditional, it had attracted some early adherents. 

The gentlemen who stalked between the knots of girls in the garden didn’t seem to notice the flagrant disregard for tradition – they seemed entranced by the youth and loveliness of the women, regardless of their lack of brazenness.  And the girls seemed to respond more like coquettes than harlots, Pentandra noted, skeptically.  If the plan was to insinuate as many pretty, polite whores into the Alshari court as she could, Pentandra decided, then there were worse plans to be had.

“Welcome to the House of Flowers, my lady,” a smooth and mature female voice greeted her.  Pentandra looked around and spotted the speaker, a middle-aged woman wrapped in a soft-looking mantle of yellow.  “What brings you to the brink of pleasure this evening with us?”

“It is business, not pleasure, my lady,” Pentandra said, brusquely, as she entered the hall.  “Official
palace
business.”

“Ah, this must be concerning our lady’s involvement in the Wildflower Festival,” the woman nodded, knowingly.

“In essence, it does,” Pentandra agreed, coolly.  “I would very much like to have a few moments to speak to the baroness.”

“Lady Pleasure is in residence, at the moment,” the woman agreed.  “I am her stewardess, Candrice.  While she is quite busy during this busy time, I’m certain she could spare a few moments for
you
, Lady Pentandra.”

“Oh, you know who I am?” she asked, surprised, as she assisted Alurra up the stone walkway, around the dancers.

“The most powerful woman in Alshar?  Why of course we do!” Candrice assured her.  “Indeed, I feel as if Lady Pleasure has been
expecting
your call.”

“She isn’t expecting
this
,” Pentandra muttered under her breath.  “If you could arrange a meeting in short order, I would consider it a favor,” she asked, evenly.

“As you wish, Lady Pentandra,” the woman nodded, obediently.  “
Liset!
  Run and inform Lady Pleasure she has a visitor, please, dear!” she called to the girls in a sing-song voice.  One of the dancing girls stopped abruptly, caught the woman’s eye, nodded, and then went inside to do as she was bidden. 

That was also of concern, Pentandra realized.  It was rare for whores not to talk back to their managers, and even rarer for them to comply without complaint. 

“Let me escort you to her chamber, my lady,” the woman said, smoothly.  “I am certain she will meet with you directly.  Can I fetch you a drink?  Have you eaten?”

“Thank you, but I am here on business,” Pentandra nodded firmly.  The busy spectacle outside of the House of Flowers was designed to invite and disarm, she recognized.  It looked for all the world like the best party in town, and the music, smells, and sights of the place irresistibly drew the eye and the attention.  And there was a kind of pall of self-conscious enjoyment about the place that seemed infectious.

It
was
difficult to resist.  But Pentandra was a well-trained mage in full charge of her senses, and it would take more than a few simple distractions to make her stray from her task.

Just as she complimented herself for that realization, she also realized that her toe was tapping incessantly to the beat of the music.  It took a lot more willpower to make it stop than she anticipated, too.

“Our business
is
pleasure,” the woman agreed, pleasantly, as she led them inside.  “As stewardess of the house.  I see to the comforts of our guests while they consider the pleasures available here.”

“My business is
magic
,” Pentandra responded, flatly, resentful of the woman’s alluring tone.  “There have been some concerns raised about your house at court.  I am here to investigate them.”

“Magic?”
the woman laughed.  “We have no magi
here,
my lady.  Save as customers,” she considered.  “Magelord Astyral was
quite
taken with his amusements, when he was last here in Vorone.”

“Astyral?  No doubt,” she said, her eyes narrowing. 

She hadn’t thought the handsome Gilmoran would stoop to paying for his pleasures – he had no end of ready admirers amongst the maids and noblewomen of Tudry. 

But the allure of the prostitute was more than mere sex, Pentandra also knew.  She tried not to think less of her friend for his indulgence, but she couldn’t resist getting in a dig.  “He’s a Gilmoran.  No doubt he has quite eccentric tastes, even for a mage.”

“He seemed like a perfect gentleman,” Candrice observed as she led Pentandra into the house.  Beyond the doors the place started to feel a lot more like a traditional brothel to Pentandra.  The hall had benches and couches were girls sat or sprawled, sometimes with their potential clients, other times with each other.  Though they all still wore the same green dress, some of them were wearing decidedly less of it than others. 

A sudden moan rang through the room, though Pentandra could not pinpoint the source.

“What’s . . . what are
they
doing?” Alurra blurted out. 

“We’ll discuss it later,” Pentandra assured her in a whisper.

“Right this way, my ladies,” Candrice said with a devilish grin.  “Lady Pleasure awaits you,” she said, after she caught the whore Liset’s eye.  The girl nodded and then headed back outside to the garden.

Pentandra took just a moment to compose herself, realizing that she was feeling far more anxiety about the meeting than she’d anticipated. 
Much
more, she realized.  Far more than she should.  Something was amiss, here, her subconscious whispered to her.  Something far more insidious and obscured than the brutal thuggery of the Rat Crew.  She was on her guard as Candrice opened the chamber door and escorted them within.

Baroness Amandice was wearing a long, beautiful red cotton gown cut in an attractive fashion, with wide sleeves and a daring neckline that dominated the room.  Though there were parchments and scrolls on the table in front of her, she ignored them in favor of her wine cup.

She stood and bowed respectfully as soon as Pentandra was escorted in.  Pentandra returned the courtesy automatically, if cautiously. 

“Lady Pentandra, what a surprise!” she said in a full, musical sort of voice.  “What brings you to The House of Flowers? Business concerning the Wildflower Festival, perhaps?”  Then she noticed Alurra, who was stalking patiently behind her mistress. “And who is
this
rustic little darling clinging to your skirts?” she asked, her voice comforting and intoxicating at the same time.