Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) (33 page)

Pick stuck his sword into the dirt and
leaned on it, panting while the color in his face returned.

“What did I tell you?” he rasped. “What did
I tell you to do if I told you to run? Damn it, Brayden. You need
to listen to me.”

Brayden dipped his head. “I’m sorry. I
tried. I remembered what you said, but I couldn’t let him, I mean,
he was going to kill you.”

Pick moved toward him, anger apparent in his
eyes. He shoved a finger at Braydne’s nose. “And that is what we
call courage.” He paused, and then smirked. “Disobedient, and
rather stupid, but courage.”

Korah was throwing up into a white basin in
her bedroom when Brynlee passed by her door. The awful sounds of
the girl’s gagging and spitting beckoned Brynlee to stop and
approach the doorway. Poking her head inside she saw a magnificent
red and white room with high ceilings and ornate gold crown
molding. The extravagantly decorated room contained a wardrobe, a
standing mirror, and a massive four-post bed—the essential
necessities of a prostitute.

Korah panted over the basin in a see-through
linen shift, her eyes dark and puffy.

“Miss?” Brynlee said. “Can I get you
anything?” It was the most common question she was supposed to ask
of people in the brothel, be they clients or working girls. Whether
the answer was “fresh linens,” “more wine,” “a hot bath,” or
“another whore,” it was Brynlee’s job to fulfill the request.

Korah looked at her through squinty eyes.
She had seen the look before on intoxicated soldiers and local
drunks, but never on a woman, and certainly not on a woman as
beautiful as Korah.

“Help me, please?” the young woman asked,
holding out her hand.

Brynlee went to her side and steadied her as
she ambled to the bed.

She had heard rumors about the
nineteen-year-old prostitute. People said her beauty was held in
high regard all throughout Perth, but Brynlee doubted few would
find her beautiful today.

“Are you all right?” Brynlee asked.

Korah sat down holding her head, looking
like she might fall over. “I imagine I look worse than I feel. I
don’t normally drink, but my charge insisted. He sells perfume out
of West Corloch. He gave me a bottle. Said I could have more if I
ever wanted to stop by.” She poked Brynlee in the arm and offered a
sly grin. “That’s one thing you’ll learn in this profession, little
one. Men will lavish you with two things: gifts and secrets. I
prefer gifts.”

Brynlee smiled.

Korah stroked her cheek. “The others were
right. You are a very kind girl. How did you wind up in a place
like this?”

The question caught Brynlee off guard
because no one had yet to ask her anything about herself. Not even
her name. Throughout the house people had taken to calling her
Girl.

“The Black King,” Brynlee began, “he sacked
my—”

Korah stopped her with a quick finger
against her lips. “Never call him that,” she blurted. “You are in
the capital city of Edhen. He is the High King Orkrash Mahl.
Understand?”

Mungo stomped into the room. He looked as
freshly powdered and proper as most of the girls did, with a wreath
of tiny fresh flowers encircling his balding dome.

“What is this?” he demanded, glaring at
Korah. “I hear from Madeline that you were drunk last night? Are
you mad? We have charges today. Many of them. I need you
downstairs.”

Korah rose on shaky feet and bowed her head.
“Forgive me, my lord. My charge insisted I drink with him last
night. Besides, he tipped well.” She motioned toward a small stand
on the side of the bed where a pile of coins formed a tiny
mountain.

Mungo strode over to the table, his long
brown and gold overcoat sweeping the floor at his feet. He pocketed
his share of the money, which was most of it. He then approached
Korah and examined her reddened eyes with disgust.

“Powder yourself up,” he said. “Then get
down the stairs.”

“Please,” Korah began, “I can’t. I need a
day. Please, just one day.”

Sighing in reluctance, Mungo sat down on the
bed, encouraging Korah to do the same with a gentle pat of the
mattress. He put his arm around her and hugged her close. “Oh, what
is wrong, my lovely?”

“My head won’t stop pounding,” Korah said,
cupping her brow with her hand.

“The next time a charge wants you to drink
like that, you mix yours with water,” Mungo said. “You know
this.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better next time.
Please don’t make me work today. One day, sir. I just–I just need
one day to feel better.”

Mungo’s other hand drifted up Korah’s chest
to her neck. “Do you know why you’re head hurts?” His fingers
wrapped around her throat. “Your heart is pumping more blood into
your brain, but you may notice that as you cut off the circulation
the throbbing fades away. Like this.” He began to squeeze. “It
intensifies at first, but after a moment or two you should begin to
feel something almost euphoric.” Korah had begun to squirm. Mungo
reclined her onto the mattress, pressing his hand harder against
her throat as he squeezed. Her legs kicked, and she grabbed at his
hand, but Mungo was in control now, and whenever he was in control
struggling only made things worse. “Do you feel it?” he whispered.
“Everything just… fading away?” He held her there for a long moment
until she started to relax.

Korah’s eyes flittered closed.

Mungo released his hand and the young woman
gasped for air. She rolled over onto her side, clutching her neck
and coughing.

“Did that feel good?” he asked.

Korah rapidly shook her head.

“No? Then remember that. I’ll make
everything fade permanently if you don’t get your perfect round ass
down the stairs.”

“Yes, my lord,” she rasped.

Mungo pointed at Brynlee who stood terrified
in the middle of the room. “You, Girl, get her some tea and sugar,
some water to wash up with.” He got off the bed and said to Korah,
“Come see me when you’re presentable.”

“Yes, my lord,” she wheezed.

Mungo strode out of the room, leaving a
menacing chill in his wake.

Korah sat up, brushing her rich black hair
out of her face.

“Girl?” Korah said before she’d had a chance
to exit the room.

Brynlee turned. “Yes?”

“Is that your real name?”

Brynlee nodded. Then, upon seeing pity in
Korah’s eyes, she shook her head.

“That’s good. You should never give them
your real name. Still, I think a new name might be worth
considering.”

“Yes, miss.”

“Call me Korah.”

Brynlee smiled, and from that moment on she
knew she had made a friend.

She prepared some tea and sugar for Korah
just as Mungo had instructed, but by the time she had delivered it
to her room on a white tray, the young woman had left.

Brynlee found her downstairs in the
brothel’s common room, where men guffawed and drank themselves into
a stupor on both wine and the sensual women dandling in their laps.
Korah worked the room like a seasoned pro, sipping on watered down
wine, flirting and teasing, until a young nobleman, half drunk,
stumbled up the stairs with her into her bedroom.

The party continued downstairs. The pretty
young girls of Mungo’s brothel gradually lost more of their
clothing as the rambunctious men lost more of their self-restraint.
Wine flowed. Money changed hands. Women and men mingled and teased
and flirted.

Mungo’s brothel was the largest in Perth,
with Mungo himself the largest procurer of prostitutes on Edhen.
Though perhaps not up to the diverse selection in Tay, Mungo’s
house featured women from many corners of the known world, not the
least of which was Korah, a native of Krebberfall. She had been a
prostitute for six years, working throughout the west coast of
Edhen until Mungo decided to add her to his collection of exotic
women. With her raven black hair, strong jaw and broad shoulders,
the young woman had proven unique among his girls and was often in
high demand.

Madeline was dancing near the hearth, a
white lace skirt low-slung around her waist, a gold chain
encircling her curvaceous hips. From her bare toes to the tips of
her elegant fingers, she created an endless series of inviting
curves, soft and provocative and unending.

No one noticed the small, seven-year-old
servant girl moving like a mouse along the outskirts of the
festivities. As always, Brynlee tried to make herself small as she
moved around the crowd, refilling empty goblets and cleaning up
messes.

Such parties were held in Mungo’s house
about three or four times per moon, and Brynlee hated them every
time. The shock of seeing the women in little to no clothing,
carousing with bawdy men, wore off soon in the face of all her
duties. The one thing she still wasn’t used to, however, was the
sounds that came from the bedrooms when the girls were with their
charges. Sometimes the screaming and the banging sounded so
horrible that Brynlee feared for the girls. She didn’t fully
understand what the men did to them, but she hated it, and hoped
that it would never happen to her.

“She has nice skin,” said a tall, thin
fellow sipping wine from a silver goblet. “Is she working yet?”

Brynlee was on her knees soaking up some
spilled wine with a rag when she realized the man had been talking
about her. She looked up at him, noticing Cordelia, another one of
Mungo’s more popular girls, pressed up against him with a
come-hither smile. When she was caught staring, Brynlee snapped her
attention back to her task.

“I’m not ready to let this little bird free
of the nest just yet,” Mungo said. “She is quiet special.” His
possessiveness made her feel several sizes smaller, and yet bright,
like a diamond trapped in the setting of his grip.

“You never want to start them too young, I
suppose,” said the thin man. “It kills the luster in their
eyes.

Brynlee finished soaking up the spill and
then took her bucket and rag to the kitchen.

She pretended not to have overheard anything
that Mungo or the other man had said, when in fact she had heard it
all so well that it give her the trembles. She feared it had
something to do with the screaming and banging that permeated the
brothel. Whatever it was, she wanted no part in it.

Maidie stood at the kitchen’s smooth wooden
counter assembling goblets of wine onto a square white tray. The
girl had been brought to Mungo’s from Aberdour in the same wagon
cage as Brynlee. She had spent much of the journey sick, and even
now looked weak and afraid, her blue eyes awash with worry.

“Wait,” Brynlee said.

Maidie flinched, almost dropping her
tray.

“Use the round one,” Brynlee said.

“Huh?”

“Here.”

She went to the girl and tenderly, almost
motherly, took the square platter from her hands and set it down.
She grabbed a large oval tray and quickly populated it with four
wooden goblets with outward sloping rims.

“It’s very important to serve the guests
correctly,” she said. “A square tray signifies sides, division, but
a round tray is like a union, you know, like friendship. And the
goblets with the edges that curve outward are provided as a favor
to the guests on behalf of the host. They’re easier to drink out
of. It’s just a courtesy.”

Maidie dropped her head and covered her
eyes. After a moment she began to sob.

Brynlee pulled her into a hug.

“I can’t do this, Bryn. I’m scared. Every
day I’m–I’m so scared.”

“I know. Me too.”

“What’s going to happen to us?”

The girls flinched in unison when Mungo
spoke. “You’re both here to work, not moan and sob.”

The girls pulled away, with Maidie quickly
wiping her eyes. Brynlee spun around to see the brothel master
standing in the doorway of the kitchen, the light from the hallway
shining on his gut. She forced a large knot free from her throat
down to the pit of her queasy core.

“Bring those drinks to my guests, child,”
Mungo said.

Maidie scooped up the tray and pattered out
of the kitchen.

Mungo waved a finger at Brynlee. “There’s
something about you.”

Her brows narrowed. “My lord?”

“See, that right there. ‘My lord.’ ‘Yes,
sir.’ ‘Yes, ma’am.’ How did you know to use the round tray instead
of the square one? You know far too much to be a peasant girl, and
you speak far too eloquently. Tell me, Girl, who taught you these
things?”

Brynlee hesitated, wondering just what she
should tell him. “My mother.”

“Ah, and what a dear, sweet mother she
must’ve been to teach her daughter such good etiquette. Do you
read, Girl?”

“History.”

Mungo’s tyrant smile stretched to the edges
of his fat cheeks. “History,” he whispered. He strolled up to her
and stood over her, cornering her against the L-shaped countertop.
He caressed her chin. “Such a delicate face. Some men would pay a
lot of money for a girl like you, did you know that?”

Brynlee shook her head. She wanted to run,
but she was too afraid to move.

“I want you to begin learning,” Mungo said.
“Watch the other girls. See how they interact with our customers. I
want you to learn to dress like them, to paint your face like them,
pluck your eyebrows and move like them. Some day, if you do well
enough, this pretty face could earn us both a small fortune.”

A great gang of laughter erupted from the
common room, calling Mungo’s attention. He kissed Brynlee on the
forehead and left the kitchen, leaving her quivering on her skinny
legs and gripping the counter for support.

Later in the evening she wandered upstairs
just as one of Korah’s charges came staggering out of her bedroom,
grinning like a fool and sweating through his disheveled clothes.
Brynlee shuffled inside and saw Korah sitting naked on the edge of
the bed, her face in her hands.