Boots for the Gentleman (2 page)

Useless and expensive,
Querry thought as he passed the empty benches.
That’s why they love it so much.
He cut quickly through East Elysium Park and hurried past more closed shops: florists, confectioners, book sellers, and haberdashers. Stands and tables that sold meat, fish, and vegetables during the day stood covered in white cloth.
The houses around Querry changed from cut stone to clay brick. They grew smaller and closer together. Soon the gaslight that spilled from behind beveled glass gave way to sputtering, smoking tallow and then darkness. Modest, middle-class homes stood vacant and untouched for three city blocks, shunned even by gypsies, beggars, and the mad. Nature slowly reclaimed them—moss spread over the roofs, and ivy infiltrated the mortar. The grass and rushes grew to Querry’s knees. He smelled sewage and chemical waste, indicating his approach to the river that bisected the city of Halcyon. His client’s home was not far now.

W
HILE
the entrance to Neroche fluctuated, Querry always found it somewhere beyond the modest homes of the city’s merchants and craftsmen, right before the shabby neighborhoods that hunched along the riverbank, home mostly to Rajallah and Xianese. He knew he was close, not only because the residents of the area had fled their homes, but because his teeth felt like they vibrated in his mouth, like he chewed on a thin sheet of aluminum. A dizzying perfume of rose and lavender replaced the industrial fumes and the reek of rotting garbage. Sure enough, Querry saw the gateway up ahead, two trees whose branches had twisted together to form an arch more elaborate and beautiful than the most skilled artisan could produce with iron. Golden leaves drifted down and piled around the trunks. A soft glow emanated from the silvery bark. As he passed beneath their boughs, Querry’s hand went instinctively to the hilt of his sword. No guards would bother him in this part of town, but Neroche held plenty of dangers all its own.

Neroche resembled any other upper-class neighborhood. Elegant stone houses, surrounded by vast lawns and gardens, lined the cobblestone streets. But the stone here, instead of being gray, was ivory flecked with gold. Like the trees, it pulsed with its own subtle luminescence. Something other than gas, something bluish and flickering, glowed from the streetlights. Once in a while the lights fluttered from one lamp to another. Close inspection of the buildings revealed things that just couldn’t be: towers jutting at impossible angles and whole upper stories stretching out, supported by nothing underneath. Also, the structures changed. Querry would never get used to the way they rearranged themselves the second he wasn’t looking. Whole streets inexplicably switched direction, or simply disappeared. It didn’t matter how hard he tried to concentrate, he could never keep track of his location. But that was another aspect of Neroche, the faerie quarter. Just entering made one feel fuzzy and giddy, almost intoxicated. Querry had learned to suppress the sensation, but he’d still be glad to conclude his business and be off.

Night in Neroche was never quiet. Querry pushed his way past residents in clothing so fine that the partygoers he’d left earlier would drool with envy. For the most part they looked human. But, as with their homes, there was always something amiss: indigo hair, crimson irises, skin and features too smooth, pointed ears, or gracefully curling horns. Groups of musicians picked lutes and blew strange pipes and horns, the music adding to Querry’s distraction. More unsightly goblins scuttled down alleyways or peered out of dark recesses.

Querry heard commotion from the branches of the many trees. He passed humans too. Some came to Neroche to peddle their wares. The faeries adored jewelry and glass baubles. One never knew what they might fancy. Merchants had made their fortunes selling the twist-off caps from ale bottles. Others, wan and staring, had fallen under the thrall of the place or one of its denizens, and had simply forgotten every other aspect of their lives. An alarming number of them languished along the walkways or swayed in the streets. They were why Lord Thimbleroy railed against the faeries every day in the Hall of Ancient Nobility. They, like the foreigners who’d come to the city as Her Majesty’s Empire expanded, corrupted good citizens with their loose morals and bizarre practices. Worse yet, if a fey took a liking to a human man, woman, or child, he’d see nothing wrong in plucking it like a wildflower. The papers reported strange disappearances daily.

Most of the other nobles agreed the faeries should be driven out. They just ignored the fact that they had no means of accomplishing it. Unlike the foreign humans, the fey had the power to fight back.

Finally Querrilous saw the home of his employer. It stood on top of a hillock, a classical-style mansion surrounded by so many sapphire roses that it appeared to float on a cloud of blossoms. The flowers also lined the stone walkway that led to the temple-like abode. As Querry passed the abundant foliage, a swarm of thumb-length sprites, naked and glowing every color, rose from the leaves. He swatted them away with his gloved hand. They bit.

Querry ascended the many white steps and walked beneath columns practically covered in vines. He could have sworn the porch they supported had curved the last time he’d been here. Now it was straight and square. It was hard to say, though. Whenever he left Neroche, Querry always felt like he’d just woken from a dream. The details departed just as quickly too. Sometimes, from the corner of his eye, Querry swore the grand house resembled nothing so much as a white mound perforated by irregular holes, like those dug by badgers or rabbits.

Querry knocked on the door, and a hunched man reaching only to the thief’s belt buckle opened it. He had greenish skin, a bald head, huge, bat-like ears, and a long, hooked nose. He wore a butler’s suit and white gloves.

“Good evening, sir,” the servant said. “The gentleman is expecting you. You’ll find him in his study.”

“And what floor?” Querry asked. Like everything here, it fluctuated.

“The third floor, sir. At the end of the hall.”

“Thank you,” Querry said, heading through the eerie gloom for the staircase. The dusky light that let him find his way came from the walls themselves. Still, he managed to get to the study. Inside, he found his client sitting behind a desk of pale wood. Books lined the walls, reaching dozens of feet high. Between the shelves, silk curtains hung open, revealing windows of beveled glass. A lightning-blue fire crackled in the hearth. Perched on the end of a brocade chaise, a nude young man plucked a silver harp. His skin and hair were white and his eyes deep violet. Shimmering wings flickered in and out of existence behind him. Though he should have been shocked by such a scandalous display, Querry had learned to ignore his employer’s eccentricities.

“Ah, Mr. Knotte,” said the man behind the desk as Querry entered the room. On cue, the pale harpist stood, bowed, and left the room. Querry watched his willowy, white body as he departed. The door shut softly behind him. “Please sit down.”

Querry took one of the chairs facing his client. The gentleman rested his elbows on the desk and stretched his long fingers into an arch, tapping the tips together. “A successful evening as always, I presume?”

“Um, of course,” Querry answered, reaching to untie the sack from his belt. The gentleman made it hard for him to think. He was stunning—waves of golden hair spilling over the shoulders of his mint, velvet blazer, sparkling emerald eyes, and an angular face that looked both soft and devastatingly masculine—handsome, even by fey standards. Querry could see the svelte line of the gentleman’s long neck stretching toward prominent collarbones and a smooth chest that finally disappeared behind a thin silk shirt and paisley waistcoat with pearl buttons. Trying not to make eye contact, Querry passed him the bag.

“Excellent!” the gentleman said, clapping twice. Why he was so excited with another gentleman’s old boots, or why he’d pay Querry twenty pounds to steal them when he could buy them for a few shillings, the thief had stopped trying to figure out. A growing pile of things the gentleman had commissioned Querry to burgle sat in the corner: a broken phonograph, a wooden box of old pencils, a cart wheel missing a few spokes, a porcelain doll with only one eye, a matching ladle and fork, a tangled wig, and a set of lace curtains. While the thief suspected himself to be a piece in some unfathomable game, twenty pounds was still twenty pounds.

“My payment,” Querry said, feeling vulnerable. He’d started not to trust himself—his reactions and responses—and needed to leave. The helpless sensation came quicker each time he visited this house.

“Indeed, indeed,” the gentleman said, opening a drawer and sliding a bag of coins across the desk.

Querry snatched them greedily, and found himself embarrassed by his desperation. “Nice doing business,” he said, standing and extending his hand.

The gentleman just stared at his proffered palm. Then, slowly, he got to his feet and came around the front of the desk. His steps, the twist of his waist, and the movement of his hair mesmerized Querry. Querry wondered at how such simple gestures could contain such perfection. How could something as simple as a fingernail be so sublime? The two stood very close now. The gentleman’s chest grazed Querry’s shoulder. He smelled like crushed grass.

“What a fascinating creature you are,” he said in a whisper. He reached up and traced the line of Querry’s brow. The thief felt powerless to resist leaning into the touch. Querry’s eyes fluttered shut. His breath faltered.

Get a hold of yourself—

“You’re far too beautiful for a common thief.” He stretched his neck, so that his floral breath washed Querry’s cheek and his lips rustled Querry’s hair, turning Querry’s muscles to quivering porridge.

“I’m an exceptional thief,” Querry said, fighting for lucidity. He should step away.

A musical giggle escaped the other man. Querry felt it reverberate up his spine. His pores contracted and his cock skipped. “Exceptional, certainly. Even more so, I’m certain, beneath this cumbersome gear and all of these silly machines. What are you like under there?” His fingers moved down Querry’s face and neck, over his heart and to the buckles of his padded vest. He tapped them one by one, as if he tickled the keys of a piano. Querry felt the faerie’s erection against the side of his thigh, next to his pistol. He felt himself turning to face the other against his will.

“You deserve fine, soft clothing. The best food and wines. Nights of revelry and dance. A life free from toil of any kind.” The gentleman’s hands went to Querry’s hips, pulling their bodies together. Querry curved against him and let his head fall backward so that the gentleman could pull his cravat aside and kiss up his neck. Fire bloomed in his cheeks, and a tingle spread across his pelvis. “You could stay here with me. Would you like that?”

Yes!
In that moment, it was all Querry wanted. Nothing else mattered beyond the gentleman’s lips, his hair, and his body. Those sparkling eyes that, in spite of the acceptable clothing, the outward trappings of civility, betrayed something wild. Querry wanted to strip slowly and stretch out naked across the desk. He wanted to lie complacent while the gentleman used his body any way he chose. But he also knew that the desire would fade when he left this place. He knew it just as he knew that if he gave in to this lust, in time he’d stop dressing at all. He’d wander the halls nude. He’d stare out the window at the flowers for days on end. He’d forget his name, stop eating—

“No, I can’t.” He pulled away. Predictably, the gentleman looked at him with even greater awe. “I’m afraid I’ve got to be going.”

The fey lifted his chin and feigned indifference. “If you must, then you must. My offer stands. And if you find yourself short on money, there’s a house on the corner of Tinkerton Street that you may want to visit. Tinkerton Street and Grace Lane.”

“You have another job for me?”

“No,” the gentleman said, turning his back to the thief and resting his hand on the surface of the desk. “I have all that I require, for now.”

“Then what—”

“I said, I have what I require.”

Querry stood staring at the golden sheet of hair flowing over the gentleman’s back, fighting down the urge to touch it. He knew better than to ask why his client suggested the address. He could tell when he was being toyed with. Later, free from the dizzying effects of Neroche and the gentleman, he could try to work it out. Now, though, he needed to leave or he never would.

Q
UERRY
took a taxi across the bridge and to the easternmost outskirts of the city. The chill in the air and the acrid stink of coal cleared Querry’s head as he made his way past the huge, dark factories. Day and night, their great pistons hammered up and down, and their smokestacks spewed soot and steam. Hordes of filthy men, women, and children trudged to and from their eighteen-hour shifts, between the foundries and mills and the row houses the companies provided. This part of town was like a city unto itself, and Querry hated it, hated it even more than Neroche. Each district within bore the name of the product it turned out: Loomston made textiles, Sparksfield munitions, Seagrave parts for ships, and so on. Querry hurried away from the resentful stares of the workers, toward home.

Between the massive manufacturing district and the river, on the very edge of Halcyon, almost to the docks, a little piece of heaven called Rushport stood in the perpetual shadow of the factories. At one time a port and some innocuous rushes occupied this space, and they’d left their names, though they’d long ago been replaced by shoddy houses, cheap motels patronized only by the poorest of sailors, unlicensed dance halls, brothels, and taverns. Querry passed several buildings hung with red paper lanterns. Perfumed smoke drifted from behind their curtained doors. A young Auriental man, his head shaved except for a long braid, wearing only loose, silk pants and slippers, motioned Querry over. He was attractive, smooth, and svelte, with a sensual droop to his eyelids. The flower resin his people introduced to the city promised an escape from hunger, fear, pain, and desperation. Some compared it to a religious experience. Many in this part of town had given up everything to seek its solace. Quite a few of the well-off had done the same. The smoking dens on the west side of the river resembled exotic palaces in some cases. Querry stopped walking long enough to admire the man. Most found coupling with foreigners distasteful and improper; though nearly all of them considered Querry’s choice of companionship unnatural. Their opinions wouldn’t stop him from having a smoke against the chest of the lovely young man. But it was an illusion of happiness, a glamour the same as that offered by the gentleman. Querry shook his head and kept walking. He waved away some men passing out handbills.