Tournament of Losers (6 page)

"I should be offended at all the scathing ways you can say things like
High City
and
your sort
and
hoity-toity
, but it's oddly appealing, like the burn of good whiskey. There's also the way it makes me stare at your mouth."

"Go dunk your head," Rath said. "I've heard better from paying cust—" He broke off, pleasure draining away, replaced by dread.
Stupid.

But instead of pulling away or getting angry or any of the other unpleasant things that High City people did when they learned he was a whore, Tress just laughed. "I refuse to believe that I give worse compliments than paying customers. For one, they're paying, which means they don't even mean it."

"And you're the first sincere nob to ever exist? I'm a whore, not a fool. I thought you were taking me home."

"You were tired and wanted a rest."

Rath ignored that and stood up, immediately regretting it, but there was little choice. He needed to rest before work that night, or the damned afternoon would have been a waste. Tress pulled one of Rath's arms across his shoulders, got his own arm around Rath's waist, and they resumed walking.

After a few minutes, he asked, "Do you even know where Butcher Street is?"

"I've memorized a city map, so yes," Tress said.

Rath knew that tone. "How many times have you gotten lost?"

"Dunk your head," Tress muttered. "If I could find a bit of you that wasn't banged up, I'd give you a solid pinch."

Rath laughed, even though doing so hurt. "Turn left here. Oh, no, a pinching! Now you've scared me into respecting my betters should I ever come across them."

"Hahaha, never heard that in Low City before. Be quiet like a good invalid. Left here, are you sure?"

"Do I look like a High City boy to you? Yes, left here. There was a sewer travesty last year, and they had to tear up the whole place. Smoke Street cuts right through Cobbler Row, which will take us to Butcher Street."

Tress huffed. "Somebody needs to update the maps, especially if that change has been in place for a year! There's no excuse for such slovenly practice—" He broke off when Rath laughed, but petulantly added, "They should update the maps."

"Poor delicate nob. Pretty maps out of date, how is he to learn the city if he doesn't have an accurate map to stare at for hours on end?"

"You sound like my father and brother, and that is not at all how I want to regard you," Tress replied, still sounding petulant. They drew to a halt as they reached a cross street. "So… right here?"

"Good guess, High City. Right and continue on until you see the shop with the blue door, then we turn left."

"As you command."

They resumed walking, lapsing into a silence that was far too comfortable for Rath's liking. Especially when he was already getting along with Tress as easily as he would Toph or one of the other fellows. But that had been what drew him the other night, why he'd decided to play with a High City when normally he avoided that lot harder than he avoided the city guard. Tress was… affable, easy, and genuinely sweet. The sort of idiot who read a book in a pub and didn't care what others thought of him for it.

Hopefully, after he dropped Rath off, he would have appeased his desire to do a good deed for the poor and go on his merry way. Unless he was hoping for another go in the bedroom, but Rath was barely going to be capable of doing that for Trin in a few hours.

Whatever. Nobles always got bored of slumming it eventually. Tress would totter off from boredom or the need to chase something newer and shinier.

"We're here. I thought you'd look more excited."

"I'm not going to give you a compliment. You probably get enough of those," Rath retorted. "You don't need to help me up the stairs; I'll never live that down."

"Very well, I know an order when I hear it." Tress swept him a bow fit for a prince.

Rath gave him a shove, or as much of one as he could manage. "Go away. People are staring."

"I'll see you later tonight," Tress replied and winked before spinning away like a dancer. Or maybe a drunk. He hummed as he walked along the street. The idiot was going to get his boots and coin purse stolen.

Rath watched him until he was out of sight, then trudged into the shop and slowly, painfully made his way all the way up the stairs.

Pulling off his clothes, adding 'laundry' to his mental list of things he really needed to do once Friar was taken care of, he tumbled into his bed. Moaned as the rough landing jarred every last pain and doubled the agony. He closed his eyes, tried to count to lull his mind into sleep.

A soft knock at the door made him whimper. "Come in." He hoped it wasn't Robert asking about rent, because he still had a week to pay it, and he hadn't been late the past seven times. The man could bugger off.

But it was only Anta. She looked around his room with a gentle shake of her head, giving him one of those peculiar smiles that was affectionate and gently reprimanding all at once. "Honestly, Rath, what are you doing getting involved in that tournament? Thought you had more sense."

"Believe me, I do, and I'm not in it by choice. Is something wrong? I'll have rent when it's—"

"Shush now, I didn't come to pester you about that," she said and set down a small pitcher and glass, followed by three twists of paper. Medicine. "A boy came by, said these were for you, from your favorite pretty idiot."

"That nob," Rath muttered, then hastily said, "sorry," when Anta gave him a warning look for his language. The whole street had heard her butcher her husband like one of his pigs when he got to swearing too much. Listening to her, he could see why she thought it unnecessary. A customer spewing insults wasn't half as vulgar or creative as Anta could get when she was riled. When she wasn't riled, she was sweeter than fresh honey. Somehow, that just made her more frightening. "Thanks for bringing it up. I don't need more than one, though, if you want the other two." She hesitated. The powders were expensive, so Anta didn't get them often, though they were one of the few things that could help her husband's back, which was pretty much constantly in pain. Rath feebly flapped a hand. "Go on. You know I don't use the stuff much. What would I do with it all?"

"Well, bless, Rath. I'll see something is adjusted in the rent, eh? He brought you the fine stuff. Surprised that boy didn't just vanish with it. Take it and get some rest. Come down to the kitchen before you go out tonight and I'll have supper for ya."

"Thanks, Anta." When she'd gone, he managed to sit up enough to pour himself some water and dump the powder into it. Drinking it quickly to get it over with, gagging at the taste, he lay back down and sighed as the powder almost immediately began to work. It really was the good stuff. The cheap powders he usually bought took ages to take effect.

A few minutes later, he was fast asleep.

He woke with a start a few hours later to the familiar banging and clanging as buildings shut up for the night, the distant tolling of the temple bells, heralding the closing hour. Rath sat up slowly, sighed happily when nothing hurt quite as badly as it had before. He still felt miserable, but he would be able to grit his teeth and get through the night.

Climbing out of bed, he quickly washed off with cold water and the last bit of soap he had, then pulled on his temple best, since the rest of his clothes were not in a fit state to be showing up to a brothel, even if he'd be taking them right off again.

Downstairs, there was food precisely as promised, though no people. Must have gone to temple or been called away on something else. Rath shrugged and made short work of the day-old bread soaked in broth and stewed vegetables.

He carried the last few bites of bread with him as he headed out, walking as quickly as he could manage across town to Honey Street. Rapping on the back door, he kissed the cheek of the young man who answered, then hurried through the kitchen and down a short hall to Trin's office. "Sorry I'm late!"

"You're not, though barely, by the tolling," she said with a faint smile. "Anyway, I'm not going to complain about a whore who brings in a customer paying double to have you for the night, insisted on waiting for you to arrive, and ordered plenty of food and wine to keep himself occupied. He's in the violet room, move along now. No time for your questions—he's been waiting long enough!"

Rath moved. Who in the names of the Fates would pay that much money for
him
? He was too old to be doing much more whoring, and no one who knew he worked there occasionally ever bothered to demand him especially.

I'll see you tonight.

He stopped dead on the stairs, then resumed walking, stride increasing nearly to a run as he finished the stairs and stormed down the hall to the large room at the end. It was decorated ostentatiously in purple, cream, and gold, and was reserved for the highest-paying clients, usually nobles, but also the occasional merchant.

Throwing the door open, Rath stepped inside and closed it again, then planted his hands on his hips. "What in the buggering Ends are you doing here?"

"You know someone once said those very words at this
very important
dinner I attended? I was twelve. You can imagine how impressed I was by the importance of this
very important
dinner. It was some minor noble, I think, affronted that a man who'd insulted his family had also been invited. I laughed so hard I spit wine out my nose and got it all over my nice, new, snow-white jacket. I thought my mother was going to strangle me with her diamond necklace. Thankfully, she loves those diamonds more than all her children combined, so I was merely banned from
very important
dinners for a couple more years."

Rath rolled his eyes. "You poor thing."

Tress grinned from where he was sprawled lazily across the plush bed, wearing only a dressing robe that he hadn't even bothered to belt closed. "You don't sound very sorry for my awful, awful childhood. The wine was red. I hate red wine."

"Your parents sound quite cruel," Rath replied. "If I have to listen to this all night,
I
shall need some wine, and I'm not picky what color it is."

Laughing, Tress swung his feet over the edge of the bed and stood, walking over to a small table laden with wine and food—even sweets, which Rath never got, save on holy days. He could not fathom what it would be like to be able to eat whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He'd probably eat honey cakes every single day and wind up fatter than a pig being led to slaughter.

"What are you doing here?"

"If you have to ask what I'm doing in a brothel, then I have to wonder what exactly they've been making you do."

Rath groaned and sat down, and bugger the
client
if he didn't like Rath's behavior. "I mean what are you doing at this particular brothel? How did you know I'd be here?"

"Oddly enough, there aren't a lot of whores named Rath. It only took asking in a couple of places to figure out where you worked." He smiled like a small child who'd managed to put his clothes on all by himself.

"Spoiled brat." Rath stared, unable not to, as Tress walked over to him. The robe, as purple as the rest of the room and heavily embroidered in gold and silver, looked made to compliment his dark skin. The way it hung open left nothing to the imagination—not that Rath needed imagination. His memory worked just fine.

He stared at the cup Tress held out. "What's that?"

"Wine, idiot. What did you think I was doing?"

Rath shook his head, not certain what to say. He hadn't really paid attention. If a client was feeling generous, they might allow Rath to have any wine or food that was left over. A couple had poured the wine
on
him: one to lap it from his skin and the other in a fit of temper. Nobody poured him wine and brought it to him.

Not certain what else to do, he took a sip. Drew back and stared. Took another, larger sip. "This is amazing."

"It is remarkably good stuff," Tress agreed, wandering away to pour a cup for himself. "I've used this house before, because Mistress Trinira doesn't skimp on anything. Charges heavily for it, but I've never regretted a shilling."

Oh, to know what it was like to count by shillings. Rath drank more wine, because he would be damned if he lost the chance to enjoy something he'd likely never get to have again. He couldn't even be put out that Tress had bought him medicine only to ensure he'd be well enough for tonight. If the man wanted to be eccentric, let him. Rath would enjoy it while it lasted, and Tress would be gone soon enough. "You must want something particularly unusual and extravagant, to be buying me medicine and plying me with your fancy wine."

Tress rolled his eyes as he took a sip from his own cup. "I don't want anything."

"That's a lie."

"Come and get in bed."

So it was a lie. Rath didn't know why that disappointed him. What had he thought they were going to do? Sit around talking? That would have been unbelievably boring.

He removed his clothes and finished the wine, then strode across the room and obediently climbed into bed. And oofed when a bundle of fabric struck him in the face. He fumbled and finally got a hold of the heavy material, saw it was another dressing robe.

"Much as I enjoy staring at your ass, put that on before you freeze it right off."

Rath frowned, but did as he was told; when it doubt, follow orders. He stood up to pull it on, then climbed back in bed. Tress joined him a moment later, carrying a plate of food and Rath's cup, refilled. He set the food between them, handed off the wine, then pulled something from the pocket of his robe. "I brought you a present." He grinned like a little boy pleased with himself for hiding his mother's cooking spoon.

"I don't want it."

"Oh, now who's being a brat?" Tress replied and dropped the paper-wrapped packet in Rath's lap.

Rath scowled at him but handed off his wine when Tress flicked his fingers, and pulled away the twine and paper. The ornate writing, all loopy and long, took him a little while to puzzle out. He wasn't very amused when he did.
Beginning Manners and Etiquette for Young Persons of Quality.