The Heresy Within (49 page)

“The second... I didn't mean that one I don't think. Jus' sorta bumped into him on the street. I was... where was I? Land's End, Five Kingdoms, I reckon. Jus' bumped into him... Can't remember his face but we stared at each other fer a bit. Then... then he started walkin' so I... I put my axe in his neck. Funniest thing, some folk actually cheered me.”

“What are you talking about?” All four of the men on the other table were looking at him now.

“The third... I remember that one. He were followin' me fer sure. So I waited fer him that time an'...”

Betrim stared at his beer for a few moments. “The fourth. That were the bad one, the one gave me this.” He tapped the scarred side of his face with his hand. “My own fault I guess. I missed, ya see. Never was too good a shot with those fuckin' crossbow things... When he came after me... he liked fire did that one. Set the whole fuckin' town on fire ta get me. Hundreds dead an' they said it was me... I didn't light no fires though. Drowned that one in the end... they can't whisper their spells underwater... reckon that's worth knowin'.

“The fifth... quick an' clean that one. In Chade it were. Quick an' clean. Never saw me comin'... one stab an' it were done. Quick an' clean.”

“I think he's talking about killing Arbiters,” said a man with a pinched face and too much forehead.

“The sixth... the sixth...”

“Hey, you talking about killing Arbiters?” said the first man, the one with a bulbous nose and fat lips.

There weren't many other folk in the common room. Just Betrim, the four on the table next to his, just about within arm’s reach, two men in a corner of the room looking like the last thing they wanted was to draw attention to themselves, the barkeep and a fat brown dog that couldn't seem to stop scratching at its ear. It was a dark little shit-hole of a tavern if truth be told, Betrim had found it in the poorer district where he judged his last silver bits would go further. Sad thing was he was down to his last bit.

“You still awake there, old man?”

Betrim looked at the man, looked at all four of them; fat lips, pinched face, pig nose and the pretty one. They were all younger than him to be sure but not by enough to call him, '
old man
'.

“Aye I'm still fuckin' awake. What the fuck do ya want?”

“Are you talking to yourself about killing Arbiters?” Fat lips said each word loud and slow as if Betrim were deaf.

The Black Thorn grinned his most horrific stretching of scarred face. “The best thing 'bout drinkin' in a place like this... the best thing is how sturdy the mugs are.”

Betrim swung his mug at fat lips' face as hard as possible; he was rewarded by an unhealthy crunch, a scream and a spray of blood. Pinched face was up and on his feet first and before Betrim. As Thorn stumbled to a standing position the man with too much forehead caught him with a meaty punch that sent Betrim reeling.

Pinched face followed up with a second punch which Betrim swayed away from then answered with a fist of his own. He felt something crack though whether it was one of his own fingers or a bone in Pinched face's pinched face he couldn't tell.

Pig nose was fumbling at something on his belt but the Pretty one charged and took Betrim in the stomach pushing him back and slamming him onto a table. Big, strong hands closed around his throat. The Black Thorn knew this was the point where he should have been choking but he found himself laughing, not an easy thing to do with someone's hands around your throat but Betrim knew something; when people were trying to strangle you they tended to leave their stones wide open.

He brought his knee up into the man's groin just as the table collapsed underneath him. Betrim heard something rip, sounded close. He rolled and found himself on top of the Pretty one. The Black Thorn grinned and rammed his head into the man's face once, twice, three times, four times and fifth for good luck. By the time he was done he could feel blood dripping down his face and the mess that had once been the Pretty one was considerably less pretty.

A flash of shadow warned the Black Thorn something was coming and he lurched away from the broken man on the floor. Something hard caught him on his left shoulder; a flair of pain followed by a spreading numbness. Never a good sign, he knew even in his drunken state. Pig nose was swinging something heavy and metallic at him, a mace by the looks of things though a damned blurry one.

Betrim dodged to his left and a chair turned to kindling in his place, then he ducked and a section of the wall behind him splintered above his head. The Black Thorn rushed forwards and shoved and elbow into Pig nose's neck. The man dropped his mace and fell backwards, coughing, spluttering, and gasping. Nothing like hitting a man in the neck to disable him, works better than the stones.

Pig nose turned to stumble away; Betrim stepped up behind him and slid a big right arm around the man's neck. Pig nose struggled, he was big and strong but the Black Thorn was bigger, stronger. After a while the body went limp in Betrim's arms and he let it drop to the floor.

Staggering, Betrim looked around at the tavern. Pig nose was down, unconscious. Pinched face was in a corner crying. The Pretty one was a silent mess of blood and bone but still alive. Fat lips was gone, no doubt run off. The two shady men looked on in shady silence. The barkeep stood in open mouthed shock and the brown dog had stopped scratching to lap at a pool of blood on the floor.

“Ya all saw them...” Betrim stumbled into a table and went down on top of it. A moment later he was hauling himself back to his feet using a chair for support. “They attacked me!” he told everyone.

With that he staggered towards the door to the tavern and out into the warm night air. Sarth was always so damned humid at night. With a drunken stumble Betrim set off to his left. “There's gotta be a brothel round here somewhere,” he looked at his last silver bit. “A cheap one.”

The
Pink Purse
was not a subtle building. Built out of the same white stone as the most of the buildings in Sarth it may be but from every window hung a gaudy coloured cloth each with its own crest. Inside each window hung just as gaudy draperies no doubt designed to obscure any view of what might be going on inside the room. Even from across the street where Jezzet hid, out of sight, she could smell the perfume from the place.

Thanquil had suggested the plan just after Thorn's dramatic exit and Jez had almost knocked out a few more of the Arbiter's teeth.

“It's not an ordinary whore house.” He told her. “The... the women there are all noble born. It's a place where those of high birth can send their daughters to...”

“To get them some experience in fucking,” Jezzet finished for him in angry tones. “So as better to seduce a man above their station. Much better to have a woman who already knows how to fuck and suck than have to teach one. Right?”

Thanquil had nodded. “I suppose so. Some of the nobility also send their daughters there if they... have too many.”

“Of course. I forgot here in Sarth you're so damned civilized. Women are married off with dowries aren't they? So if you can't afford to pay for someone to marry her you just send her to a whore house to get fucked for the rest of her life.”

The Arbiter had winced. “It's more like renting them to the whore house... The family is given half of whatever is charged for the woman.”

It wasn't his fault, she knew that. Thanquil didn't make the laws, didn't even live in Sarth most of the time but she'd felt like hitting someone and he was the only one there at the time. Somehow she managed to restrain herself.

“The woman who runs the place calls herself Lady Frerry,” Thanquil continued. “She's well known among the... among the thieves of Sarth.”

“How do you know the thieves?”

Thanquil had grinned, the new gap in his teeth showing. “The Inquisition didn't teach me everything I know. Lady Frerry is known because she can be bribed. It won't be the first time they've dealt with a body.” He tossed Jezzet a purse, felt heavy at the time and later, when she checked it she counted just over a hundred gold bits, a small fortune by most folk’s count.

“Give her that,” Jezzet was already shaking her head as Thanquil continued. “Tell her you want a room and you want Kosh.”

“You want me to be his whore?” She almost hit him again.

“No...”

“How about I just ambush him in the street and kill him, like Thorn and Kessick?”

“You're good, Jezzet, with your sword, probably the best I've ever seen but Kosh. Our old master at arms used to say Kosh was the best warrior the Inquisition had ever produced and he's an Arbiter on top of that. I don't want you to do anything but pretend you're there to... until...”

“To fuck him.”

“Until he puts aside his weapons. Then,” Thanquil had stood and handed Jezzet her sword, “you're going to need this.”

The rest of the day had been awkward. They'd had awkward conversation, awkward sex, and awkward silence. It was like neither of them could think of anything to say to the other. Jezzet had just fled with sword and gold in hand and she hadn't returned. That was yesterday, she hadn't seen the Arbiter for a full day. Might be he thought she'd just gone, took the gold and left him.

Could you blame him for thinking that? You just got dressed, took the gold and ran, Jez. Not exactly a fond farewell. At least he wasn't dead though, you have a habit of leaving men dead.
It was a discomforting thought considering what she was about to do.

Two guards stood at the entrance to the
Pink Purse
both armed and armoured, one was thick of neck the other looked thick of head, both looked ready for a fight.
Places like this always have their own guards and both look like they've seen a few fights, the stupid one maybe a few too many.

Jez sauntered up to the entrance with a look on her face she hoped made her look official; it wouldn't do for them to guess that she was here to murder one of their patrons. She stopped in front of the two guards and let them look at her. They were both big men, both towered over her and both weighed twice as much as her. Still, Jezzet held her ground and didn't flinch as they leered and grinned.

The thick necked one pointed at Jezzet's sword, it would look little more than a toy in one of their beefy hands, and laughed.

“It's not the size that matters, it's where you stick them,” Jez said with a sneer.

The one with the thick neck laughed and waved her in. Jezzet nodded and walked inside, it was unlikely they got many female visitors; no doubt they weren't certain whether they should let her in or turn her away.

Inside the smell was cloying; stale sex and sweet perfume.
Think I preferred the smell of the sewer... both of them.
The room was dimly lit with covered lanterns lending a seedy feel to the disgusting smell. Jezzet hated whore houses almost as much as she hated being called a whore. Cushioned couches and sofas scattered the floor, some had women lounging about on, and others were vacant. Each woman wore a light coloured dress to contrast against the dark coloured cushions and each dress looked like it could slip from their shoulders at a moment's notice. Some of the woman looked Jez up and down the way a predator might stare at its prey, others just watched her with dull, vacant eyes.

Should I pity them or despise them? Or should I just put them all out of their misery?
Problem was not all of them looked miserable.
How could any woman enjoy this lifestyle?

There were two more guards just inside the door, both as big and weighty as those outside but these two looked like they had some intelligence about them. Jezzet wagered she could kill them both before they even touched their weapons.

“Um... We don't service women... or well... Alexis does but she doesn't take payment,” Jez turned to find a petite girl with big brown eyes and long blond hair that flowed down to her arse. She didn't even looked old enough to bleed and the light green dress she wore was more or less transparent, Jez could clearly see her tiny budding breasts beneath.

Presumptuous little whore!
Jezzet wondered how hard she had to stare at someone before they exploded. The little whore did not explode but she did wilt and back off a few steps. Jezzet became aware of the guards closing in behind her.

“No, no, no, no, Faren,” came a voice to Jez's right, spiced with an accent she had only heard once before back in the Five Kingdoms. “This one is not here for that. I am right, I am.”

The woman was older than Jez but not by a lot. Her skin was the colour of a dark olive and her hair was black as midnight. She had full, red lips, fine features barely touched with powder and lively dark eyes. She wore a light red dress of silk, which hugged the curves of her body while remaining as transparent as the little whore's green shift.

“You're a desert dweller,” Jez said with narrowed eyes.

The woman crossed her arms underneath her heavy breasts. Jez had never seen such large nipples before. Everything about the woman screamed, '
whore
'.

“A westerner from the Five Kingdoms I am, yes.” Her voice was as sweet and choking as the perfume in the air. “And you have something for me, you do.”

“After we set terms.”

“No, no, no. I will have the payment now, whether we agree or not,” her voice became less sweet and more dangerous.

Jezzet gritted her teeth and sighed. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation in private?”

The whore mistress grinned and stepped up to take hold of Jez's arm. “Mmmmm,” she purred, “I thought you'd never ask, I did.”

If you try to touch me I will stab you.
Jezzet thought as she allowed the whore to lead her away by the arm. They passed a number of other women who stared at Jez in mute fascination as they reclined on sofas. She fought the urge to spit.

You were almost sold to a whore house, Jez.
She reminded herself and thanked all the Gods she couldn't remember that her old master had saved her from that even if he had made her pay for it every day she was with him.