The Sword-Edged blonde (24 page)

“That’s more than enough, Mr. Ratchett.” I paid him, counting out each gold piece so he could savor the individual clacks on the tabletop. “I hope this helps you get back on your feet.”

He pocketed the gold and stood, his petal-thin dignity restored by the money’s weight in his pocket. “As long as the gods and goddesses of chance share your wishes, sir, I shall manage quite nicely.”

“Light a candle to Epona,” I said impulsively. “She’s got a thing for horses.”

“Is she a lady or a goddess?”

I almost laughed aloud. “When I find out, I’ll let you know.”

Y
ou needed a password to get into the Dragonfly Club, something Lonnie conveniently forgot to tell me. I resolved, when this was over, to hit him up for a refund.

I left the racetrack and went straight to the waterfront. If the Dragonfly Club followed the pattern of similar establishments, it would operate twenty-four hours a day, so there was no need to dally. I also didn’t want to give Lonnie time to warn anyone.

All along the two-mile stretch of low, crudely built storage warehouses, the suntanned denizens of shipping offices and other ocean-based industries scurried about doing purposeful, nautical things. Sailors of all classes, from uniformed officers to likely pirates, filled the streets, alleys and docks. The smell of salt, mildew and dead fish overpowered all other odors. Seagull droppings left white streaks from the edge of every roof. A stranger could easily tell the prevailing wind came from the northeast by the way the northern walls were either weather-beaten within an inch of their structural integrity, or recently repaired.

Lonnie’s directions were clear enough. I followed a series of discreet dragonfly graffiti down a labyrinth of alleys, which of course gave me plenty of chances to be seen, evaluated and dealt with before I reached my destination. The first dragonfly, nearly hidden beneath a fresh coat of whitewash, led me between the offices of a cargo company and an out-of-business produce warehouse. The only people I saw were two old rummies passed out in their own urine. By the time I found the next emblem, plainly marked on an old rain barrel, there was no one else in sight. This was the part of Cape Querna that Bernie and his boys would
never
clean up, unless it was with torches and oil.

I passed a stumbling, evidently drunken young man in disheveled clothes far too classy for the neighborhood. He didn’t notice me as he went around a corner muttering, “Rigged, it all had to be rigged. . . . ” The gambler’s lament. The Dragonfly must be close.

At last I reached the weathered, slightly warped warehouse door that, according to Lonnie, was the tavern’s secret entrance. The building itself looked too decrepit to survive a good sneeze, let alone one of Boscobel’s notorious winter gales. I pulled back one bent plank enough to peer inside, and saw boxes packed for shipping stacked in a neat pile. They were covered with dust, though, and I’d have bet money they were all empty, just part of the building’s disguise.

A seagull dropped a rat carcass near my feet. The bird landed, got a better grip and flew away. I was glad I didn’t believe in omens.

The same hand-sized dragonfly emblem I’d been following marked the door. I knocked firmly.

A section of wood slid aside enough for two mean eyes to peer out at me. I wasn’t dressed up, but I’d gotten a haircut, beard trim and new jacket so I didn’t look my usual scruffy self. I wanted to intrigue, rather than impress or intimidate. “Yeah?” the mouth beneath the eyes said in a ragged but unmistakably feminine voice.

I put on my weary sophisticate act. “Can the tough stuff, okay? Let me in.”

“Beat it,” she said, and shut the peephole. Perhaps my act needed work.

I sighed, counted to ten, then knocked again. No response. I kicked the door as hard as I could several times. Still no response. I did learn that it was more solid than it looked.

I waited until I caught my breath, then leaned close. “Sweetie, either talk to me or send somebody out here to kick my ass, otherwise I’m just gonna embarrass us both.”

It took a moment, but the slot opened again and there was a hint of humor in the way she said, “I told you to beat it.”

“You need a password, is that it?”

“I need you to take a hike.”

“How about . . . ‘the Dwarf.’ ”

I heard a hollow, ripping sound like the wind tearing a sail. It took a moment to realize it was her laughter. Finally she said, “Keep being that funny, you’ll make me pee on myself.”

I really didn’t want to tip my hand this soon, on the off chance that I was right. But I saw no other way to get past this harpy. “Okay, then, how about . . . ‘Andrew Reese.’ ” I leaned close and softly chanted, “Andrew Reese is broken to pieces.”

Again I got the harsh laughter, only it was abruptly cut off. I heard her whisper with someone. Then the locks clicked, and the door swung open to allow a man to peer out and look me over.

He had neat blond hair, blue eyes and a smooth, boyish face. He wore an expensive cream-colored suit tailored to his lithe body. He looked me up and down, evaluating me just as I did him. I was faster; I knew he was serious trouble the instant I saw him.

“Come in,” he said simply in a flat, quiet way.

I stepped inside a small antechamber, with two doors on the wall opposite the entrance. I imagined one led into the club, and the other to a convenient place for disposing of bodies.

I turned as the rough-voiced girl locked the door behind us. And to my surprise, she
was
a girl—no older than thirteen or fourteen, in a simple dress and with two long braids. I couldn’t imagine that voice coming out of her until I noticed a shiny gold ball seemingly arbitrarily stuck to her neck; a matching one decorated the opposite side. She rolled her eyes when she saw me looking.

“Arrow shaft through my neck,” she growled. She twisted one of the finials off to show the wooden stub protruding from her skin. “Doctor says it’ll kill me if I take it out. So I at least try to make it look nice.”

“Isn’t it uncomfortable?”

“Not as uncomfortable as being dead.”

“That’s enough chitchat, Spike, you’ll annoy the customers,” the blond guy said firmly. “This way, sir.” The girl he called Spike smiled at me like she was watching a steer on its way to become a steak.

I followed blondy through the door on the right. It
opened onto a steep, dark stairwell with a single lantern at the landing far below. Like the building facade, the steps were warped with age and humidity. It worked fine as a discreet entrance, but there had to be additional exits. I couldn’t imagine negotiating those stairs drunk.

The blond guy took the steps two at a time, his feet barely making a sound. “Didn’t catch your name,” I called to him.

He reached the bottom, turned and looked up at me. “I didn’t toss it.”

The stairs ended at another door. The unmistakable sounds of revelry bled through its reinforced surface. Blondy met my gaze with steady, fathomless eyes. The lantern’s light reflected from his pupils so he seemed to have a tiny spark inside each eye.

“Welcome to the Dragonfly,” he said. “We have simple rules. No fighting, no accosting the waitresses. If one of the floor girls turns you down twice, leave her alone. No drinking to excess. When you run out of money, go home.”

“You give this speech to everyone?”

He ignored me. “Present this at the bar. One free drink of your choice, on the house.” He pressed a coin marked with the dragonfly emblem into my palm. “I hope you enjoy the evening, Mr. Johnson.”

So Lonnie was faster than he looked. “Thank you, Mr. . . . ?”

Again he ignored me. He turned on his heel, opened the door and gestured that I should precede him.

The warehouse floor above formed the club’s low ceiling and gave it a cramped, false intimacy. The place was actually huge, and a central carpeted walkway ran its considerable length. Every kind of gambling
seemed to be available, from roulette to cards to a tubular track for betting on rabbit races. It had a dance floor with a band, a small café, and of course a gigantic bar that ran along one entire wall.

The heat and noise in the place was exhilarating. As I predicted, the club was packed with both suckers and those who lived off them. Girls wearing little more than scarves and money belts served drinks to the gamblers at the tables. Most of the poor bastards were too enthralled in their games to even notice all the bare flesh. Probably a million tiny candles provided light, and their flames reflected off the gold and crystal surfaces. The dragonfly motif was everywhere, from the goblets and decks of cards to tattoos on some of the girls.

By the time I took all this in, blondy had vanished. With no clear plan, I made my way to the bar. After a moment a staggeringly attractive brunette bartender, with a dress so tight you could count her freckles, leaned over the counter and said, “What’ll it be?”

I put down the coin. “What’ll this get me?”

She picked it up, eyes wide. “Wow. You’re a friend of Canino’s. This’ll get you anything you want.”

The blond guy’s name was Canino, then. Seemed a good idea to remember it. With a wink I said, “Anything? Even you?”

“Hell, yeah,” she quickly agreed. “If you can wait until the end of my shift.”

I knew I was being watched, and wasn’t about to let this girl get me alone somewhere, despite her obvious charms. It didn’t take much strength to cut someone’s throat when their guard was down, and with her knockout figure, I imagined most guys dropped their guard pretty fast.

“I’m actually here looking for another pal,” I said. “Short guy. Name’s Andrew Reese. He used to hang out with Canino and me. Know him?”

She shook her head. “I’ve been on my feet since the lunch rush, I’m lucky to remember my
own
name. But didn’t you ask Canino?”

“Sure. He said to ask you.”

Her eyes narrowed and her smile grew devious. “Who are you, mister? Did you find that coin on the floor somewhere? Canino finds out you’re tossing his name around, he’ll hand you your liver.”

“I promise, Canino himself gave it to me.”

“Huh.” She stood back and thoughtfully crossed her arms. It almost boosted her charms right out of her dress. “So I got work to do. Do you want to cash that in for a drink, or an hour with me?”

I dropped the coin on the bar with a clack. “A drink’s probably safer. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“You have to die from something,” she said, smiled with what might’ve fooled lesser men into thinking was genuine regret, and turned to pour my drink.

I scanned the crowd for Canino’s blond head even though I knew he was probably off consulting his superiors about me. He worried me more than anything in the place. Clearly he was on a leash, and I didn’t want to find out how tight it was. I might have to, though, to discover who held it.

The girl placed the drink before me, and I took a long swallow. I could do little at the moment but wait and see, unless I decided to lead the crowd in a chorus of “Andrew Reese is broken to pieces.” That seemed unwise.

I took another swallow of the really top-flight ale. In all honesty, I doubted I would have enjoyed the girl nearly as much, which was a sad comment on my priorities. She watched me, still smiling, and I raised my goblet to her in appreciation.

I tried to organize my thoughts into some semblance of a plan, but by the time I realized I wasn’t thinking straight, no plan would help me. The poisoned drink slipped through my fingers, and I followed it to the floor a moment later.

I
AWOKE IN
a small windowless room. A single candle flickering in its sconce provided the only light. I lay on a bed that smelled of sweat and sex. This would be one of the chambers where girls like the bartender took their clients. Or victims.

I sat up. My brain expanded to three times the size of my skull, and I immediately lay back down. I probably whimpered.

Sometime later I awoke again. My mouth felt like someone had scoured it with sand. Even the candlelight hurt my eyes. My brain only went up half a size this time, though, and I managed to stay seated on the edge of the bed.

I was shirtless and barefoot. I saw no sign of my belongings, which was kind of annoying since my jacket was brand new. The candle, a chamber pot and a water jug were my only companions. I desperately wanted a drink, but there was no way I was taking a chance on anything else provided by the management.

It took four tries, but eventually I got to my feet. The room showed its appreciation by trying to turn inside
out. In retaliation, I banged my head against the wall until my skull’s thickness scared the room into behaving.

I put my back to the wall beside the bed and locked my knees so I wouldn’t collapse. Whatever they’d slipped me was burning off, and moving around would make it happen faster. I stumbled from one wall to another for what felt like hours before I heard a key clank into the door. I stopped, drenched in sweat, and waited for my visitor.

It was no surprise: Canino. Behind him I saw a long corridor with many identical doors, and heard the faint sounds of the club. He closed the door and pocketed the key. It might as well have been in another country.