Release: Davlova: Book One (9 page)

Talia smiled, as if sensing my thoughts. “Here.” She pressed a small, heavy purse into my hand. “Some of this is a gift from him. Some of it’s an advance from me on what you’ll earn over the next few days. I don’t care how much or how little of it you spend, but I expect you to come back well dressed.”

I nodded, wondering how it would feel to go into shops as an honest customer. To be measured for boots and jackets. In the past, I’d worn nothing but castoffs and rags. I’d counted myself lucky to be able to wash them once in a while. I’d never owned anything new, and I’d certainly never purchased it. Now, I was being ordered to do it. The problem was, I had no idea where to go. I didn’t even know where to begin.

I found Lalo in the kitchen, eating with a few of Talia’s girls. I’d thought only to ask him where I should go, but he smiled broadly at my question and said, “Can I come with you?”

The stores Lalo wanted to take me to were in the third quadrant. We left Talia’s and headed west, toward the plaza. Only a few yellow leaflets lay on the ground, soiled and torn. They’d obviously been there a while.

“There haven’t been any new ones in a while,” Lalo said. “Not since right after the festival.”

“Maybe that’s a good sign. Nothing new to report.”

We did, however, spot one of the yellow-robed men, preaching rebellion from an overturned crate on a street corner.

“Do you think it will happen?” Lalo asked, his voice quiet.

I looked over at him, trying to decide how he expected me to answer. Lalo was older than I was, although it was hard to say exactly how old. In the bright light of day, I could see the beginnings of wrinkles around his eyes, but working at Talia’s had taught me that whores aged fast. Regardless, his days making money on his back were probably numbered. What would he do then?

I didn’t know him well enough to ask.

“Eventually,” I said, finally answering the question he’d asked. “I don’t see any other possibility.”

“I have dreams sometimes,” he said, his voice even quieter than before. “Dreams that the city is burning. I worry that Benedict will burn the fourth quadrant to the ground.”

Fire would spread quickly in the trenches. I shuddered at the thought. “Let’s hope the idea never occurs to him.”

We finally reached the bustle and noise of the main plaza, and I pushed the idea of fire from my mind to survey the scene in front of me. “Around or through?” I asked Lalo.

“I vote around.”

Straight through the plaza was the shorter distance, but given the crowds, it was often the slowest. And the most dangerous. I scanned the edges of the plaza. I spotted several of Benedict’s officers strolling the paved walkways around the perimeter of the plaza. More than usual. It wasn’t surprising, given the general hostility within the city.

“Through,” I said.

Lalo followed my gaze, then glanced at me in amusement. “Afraid of the police? We’re not doing anything wrong.”

“Old habits die hard. Besides, you have some strong urge to walk up and introduce yourself?”

He laughed. “Fine. We’ll go through.”

I had to be alert now. I kept my eyes peeled as we ventured into the plaza, watching the crowd. No nobles about. There were plenty of honest businessmen and women, hawking their wares, and a few honest-to-Goddess customers, too. But hidden among them, there’d be thieves and pickpockets. Clan kids and con men.

I thought of my wallet, tucked away, out of the reach of nimble fingers. I glanced quickly at Lalo. He was watching his feet, barely glancing up as we made our way through the crowd.

“Weren’t you a clan kid?” I asked. He’d asked me the same question on that first night, which had led me to assume he’d spent a few years picking pockets. But his inattentive attitude now showed no knowledge of the streets.

“I was.”

“You should know to keep your eyes up. Watch the crowd. Especially the kids. Make eye contact with them. Otherwise, they’ll think you’re an easy mark.”

He looked at me in surprise, and his right hand started to move toward his back pocket.

“Don’t touch your wallet,” I said, bringing him up short. “Flats always do that. At some point, they check their pocket to make sure their money’s still there. That’s how thieves know which pocket to pick.” Not to mention that his back pocket was the most obvious place to carry his money.

“That explains why I’ve returned home with my wallet missing so many times.”

“You should know this stuff,” I said. “It’s stuff any clan kid should know.”

“I wasn’t one of the pickpockets. My boss put me to work turning tricks the first week after he found me.” There was no shame or apology in his voice. It was a simple fact.

“How old were you?”

“Way too young.”

I winced, thanking the sky and the Goddess for sending me to Anzhéla. She may have placed some of her older wards in whorehouses, but only those who were willing, and never the kids.

“Sir?” a small boy emerged from the crowd to tug on Lalo’s jacket. “I’m lost. Can you help?”

“Scram!” I said, urging Lalo on. But even he wasn’t so green as to fall for the supposedly lost boy, who undoubtedly had a clan brother ready to sneak up behind us while we “helped.”

“I would have preferred to be one of them,” Lalo said, as we reached the western side of the plaza. “One of the pickpockets. But my boss had a client who liked young boys, and I was just his type.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, even though his tone didn’t ask for sympathy.

He shrugged. “It wasn’t as bad as it sounds. There was only him for the first three years, until I grew too old for his tastes. And he was actually quite kind to me. It was after he tired of me that things became... difficult.”

It was crazy, how we worked to justify the indignities done to us by the trenches. “Which clan was this?”

“Frederic’s.”

I’d heard of him, but not for several years. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Lalo turned to me, flashing a sudden and unexpected smile. “Can’t say I’m sorry about it, either. It was after he died that I ended up at Talia’s.”

“And you like it there.”

He shrugged. “It’s a hell of a lot easier than on the streets. Meeting her was probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He signaled for me to turn down the first street. “Go this way. There’s a nice shop. Very affordable.”

Despite Lalo’s reassurance, I was shy at first. I felt like a fraud. Who was I to buy fine, new clothes? A whore, putting on airs. But if the shop owner knew how I made my money, he didn’t care. There was little enough coin flowing through Davlova these days, he wasn’t about to turn his nose up at a client with a full purse. He was friendly and gracious as he brought out his wares.

By the end of the afternoon, I was enjoying myself. I’d never had the luxury of being vain. Now, I could be as selective as I wanted. I opted for soft suede pants in shades of grey and black, and plain white shirts, and one simple grey vest. I also bought several jackets. My instinct was to go for neutral colors—after all, it was in the interest of thieves to be subtle and unseen. But Lalo reminded me that I was no longer a pickpocket. In the end, I bought three jackets: one red, one indigo, and one green to match my eyes. They were all long and tailored, with gold stitching and ornate buttons. I also bought the first pair of new boots I’d ever owned. Thick new soles, rather than ones worn most of the way through, and soft clean lining. I couldn’t get over how strange they felt, and how luxurious, knowing that nobody had worn them before me.

I was in such good spirits by the time we finished, I almost didn’t see what was happening. But as we entered the plaza, some sixth sense I’d developed as a thief caused me to stop short. The hair on the back of my neck rose, sending goose bumps down my spine. A sudden spike of adrenaline caused a nervous in my armpits and groin.

“Wait,” I told Lalo, drawing him back against the wall.

“What is it?”

“I’m not sure yet.” The crowd seemed oblivious. Except there wasn’t a clan kid in sight. They’d all taken cover. “There’s something—”

It hit me. Policemen. There’d been more than usual before, but now, I counted more than a dozen lingering around the southwest end of the plaza, only a few doors down from where we stood. They were spread out, doing their best not to draw attention to themselves. But there were too many of them. I looked back, toward the plaza. Farther out, I saw more of them, all moving southwest. All moving toward that too-casual knot of men in uniform standing way too close for comfort.

“A raid,” I whispered.

“What?” Lalo asked in alarm. “Where?”

“Right on top of us, and we sure as hell don’t want to be caught in the middle of it.”

I looked around. A tavern stood open next to us, full of everyday people, having a bit of ale before heading home. I spotted the owner, standing near the door, looking out. He’d obviously sensed something, too, but hadn’t yet figured it out.

“Raid,” I told him. “Bar the door.”

I didn’t go inside. The tavern probably wasn’t the target, but there were too many patrons there. Any group of people could become dangerous, given the wrong circumstances. I grabbed Lalo’s arm and led him north, trying to hurry without looking suspicious. Five doors down, we came to an inn. A small one, with broken shutters and its sign hanging crooked from one hook. An inn that probably hadn’t had a customer since the festival.

Perfect.

A bell jingled as I pulled Lalo through the front door. I closed it behind me and began throwing the locks.

“Can I help you?” a voice asked behind me. “Do you need a room?” And then, with obvious alarm, “Hey now. Why are you locking my door?”

I turned to find a woman watching me. Her greying hair was pulled back in a sloppy bun. Her clothes were worn and patched, but her eyes were bright with intelligence. She looked back and forth between Lalo and me, trying to assess if we were a threat.

“There’s going to be a raid.” I reached into my pocket, feeling for a coin. “Here.” I flipped it toward her, and she caught it easily. She looked down at it, and her eyes went wide. It was probably more than she would have charged us for a week’s lodging. “We won’t bother you. I only ask that you let us stay until it’s over.”

She nodded, tucking the coin away. “For that, I’ll even bring you bread and wine.”

The wine was mostly vinegar, and the bread was stale. It didn’t matter. Neither Lalo or I felt inclined to eat. We watched out the window as the raid went down.

Benedict himself led the charge, with at least three-dozen men behind him. Once the screaming started, the pedestrians in the plaza bolted. A few vendors struggled to close up their carts and move out of the way before the real violence began, but most simply hit the ground, scooting underneath their carts as much as they were able.

It was a den. I didn’t know which clan. Whoever they were, they’d been housed on the third floor of what had appeared to be a laundry house. Some of the kids escaped. I saw them, bailing out of windows, shimmying down—or sometimes up—the drain pipes that hugged the side of the building. They disappeared into the crowd. But many of their clanmates weren’t so lucky.

Benedict’s men began dragging clan kids from the building. The city’s jail wagon had arrived, and the policemen shoved the children into it. Some of the kids begged. Some cried. Many of them fought like cornered rats. One fought too hard and a cruel-eyed guard clubbed her down and left her in a bloody heap on the sidewalk. After that, the rest of the kids went into the wagon quietly.

Finally, the guards hauled the bodies of two adults out of the building. They dumped them—one woman and one man, undoubtedly the denmasters— onto the sidewalk. Blood puddled beneath them and ran in slow rivulets into gutters, mixing with the other refuse of the trenches.

So much horror, and yet it was over in less than ten minutes. Benedict and his men took the wagon full of bleeding, crying children back through the plaza gate.

For what felt like an eternity, nobody moved. The pounding of my heart echoed in my ears. My hands shook. I was torn between the need to act and the instinct to stay hidden. Somebody needed to go to the fallen, to see if the beaten child still lived, but it was as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for some sign that it was time to move. It was time to breathe. It was time to return to the everyday business of buying and selling fried fish and imported gloves, as if nothing had ever happened. As if the bodies of our comrades weren’t cooling beneath our feet.

Finally, a small boy crept from the shadows, tears making bright clean tracks down his dirty cheeks. He sank to his knees between the bodies. His shoulders shook visibly. Whether they’d been kind, like Anzhéla, or cruel, like Frederic, they’d been his guardians. They’d given him a roof and fed him. They’d provided a family and a home. They’d done what nobody else in the city had bothered to do.

Next to me, Lalo put his head in his hands and cried.

CHAPTER SIX

A new wave of yellow fliers flooded Davlova’s streets the next day. The whores in the parlor spoke of nothing else, and Lalo finally left the room rather than listen to them.

To my surprise, Donato sent word that my services weren’t needed that week. I worried that I’d displeased him, and that my job as his whore had ended before I’d managed to garner any useful information for Anzhéla. But the following week, he requested me again. After that, I saw him every night for the next month. His behavior toward me changed radically from one day to the next. Sometimes he wanted me to be subservient. Other times, he wanted adoration. On occasion, he even invited a bit of playfulness. He was often forceful, and his lust sometimes drove him to slap my flank as he fucked me, or to sneer hatefully at me, panting that I was a filthy, dirty whore as he labored away behind me, chasing his pleasure. But he was rarely cruel. I quickly learned to read his mood, and to adjust my response to him accordingly. I knew it pleased him.