Money Troubles: The Search for a Guardian

[Landis d'Ames nó Mandrake]

The letter from Ignace had arrived early this morning. I was not expecting a miracle, and truth be told I was rather relieved that I would not have to spend an unspecified amount of time at Mandrake House, hiding like a coward until the wolves found easier prey. Still, apparently Ignace was feeling charitable, and the offer of help was appreciated even if the tone of the later suggested that he would sooner see me as far away from the house as possible.

Unfortunately, this left me with few options. I could not involve my brother in this, nor could I hope to best either of the men who had come calling, that is, assuming they acted alone and were not part of a greater organization.

I needed to find someone who could protect me, someone with fewer scruples than I, and that meant I would have to go where the unscrupulous congregated.

Night's Doorstep.

In all my years at Mandrake House, I had seldom ventured into this district, and never at night. At night, it seemed as if a second Night's Doorstep emerged from the aether, one where thieves and cutthroats roamed the streets, searching for purses fat with gold or a bared throat, ripe for cutting.

I kept my gaze on the horizon as I walked, fighting the urge not to look to either side of me and noticed the smashed bottles or the shadows of rats as they scurried to and fro in search of food. I was certain that there were eyes on me, but I did my best to ignore them as I ducked into the first tavern that I came across.

Unscrupulous types always congregated in taverns...

I carefully avoided making eye contact with anyone as I slid into a seat at an empty table, feeling distinctly out of place.

I nearly pissed myself from fright when someone slammed a mug of ale down on the table. A large man, with a ring in his nose that reminded me of the sort that bulls wear, sneered down at me.

"This is our table, whore," he rasped, his breath foul from a few mugs of ale already. "Leave off before I skin that marque off your back..."

Oh, well then...

"Excuse me, Messire," I said, rising and hastily changing tables. There were times when a Mandrake's near instinctive urge to balk when given an order did nothing to prolong one's life, and this was one of those times.

The party of men--sailors, perhaps--hastily claimed the available seats at the table and did not molest me further. Finally in possession of my wits, I settled in to observe the other patrons, hoping that one exhibited the qualities that I desired

and hoping that I would not lose my head in the meantime.

[Samael Basmala]

Part of me wanted to deny vehemently, every hour of the day, the gracious splendor of the city around me. I did not yearn for a home, as I felt my homeland had been as ungracious to me as a princess to a pig-keeper. I just didn't want this country, this city, these people, to be welcoming. I wanted to find some flaw in them, some mark that their stories of angels and gods were as false as their beauty. I wanted to be angry at them, simply because anger had moved me for so long, I was not sure I could keep going without it.

I was, however, failing. Elua's land had a rich beauty all its own, at the moment caught like radiance glimpsed for a heartbeat beneath the veil of a houri. Her people... were people. No more, no less, not exalted nor base beyond reason. There might have angels' blood in some of them, there might not, but it did not, figuratively, rule their every day. Their vices were certainly extreme, but then again, that was nothing new. The cultural differences jolted through me still, sometimes: their painted priest-whores moved as proud as sultans through their daily lives, when they deigned come out of their walled manors. Their temples were open to all, making no difference between noble-born and peasant. They let women rule them, do business bare-faced, equal to any man.

I had a lot to learn. I couldn't do so, however, without first having a safe home for my princess, that I may roam through the city without fearing her besmirched by some mongrel stallion. I needed a home; to get a home, I needed a job; to get a job, I needed recommendations that I could not provide, because I no longer had a home to provide them for me. I could have wept or laughed, or both.

I didn't want to show any more of Aunt Basmala's jewels than I had to, and I certainly didn't want to part with them for coin, but I would soon have no choice. Roaming through the lower caste districts had brought me no luck other than to prove to the local thieves that I was too mean a wolf for their dogs, no hope or offer of job.

After another fruitless day and night, feeling the still chill air bite into my bones more than usual, I finally elbowed my way into one of the local establishments and parted with enough coin to buy a bowl of stew and a heel of the local, dark bread to go with it. They fermented grain and fruit here freely; I drank from my waterskin instead, and watched the crowd, the same useless louts that I saw every night.

If one has ever seen a sultana's colorful pet fish appear through the water lilies in a murky pond, one has seen the arrival of the man. He was handsome, surely, and as out of place as such a fish would have been if put up for sale at a fishmonger's stall. There were other places that catered to nobles with a taste for danger, for the false sense of mingling with such scum as this 'Night's Doorstep' fostered; the tavern was not one of them.

Then I heard the drunkard speak to him, and understood: one of the whore-priests, concubines, whatever they might be called. Servants of the goddess-whore. For some reason, though I had seen a few, it had never really sunk in that a man would serve under the goddess-whore Namaah. Well, apparently the respect they might command did not extend to the intoxicated; he moved out of the lout's way with haste when bid do so.

I smiled and watched him; he was unusual, an oddity to this place, and I had nothing better than to wonder as to reasons behind such oddness.

[Landis d'Ames nó Mandrake]

I tried to ignore the feeling that many sets of eyes were now regarding my form the way a cat would a mouse.

This was quite possibly the most idiotic plan I had ever hatched in my life, but now that I was knee deep in filth, I would have to see it through, even if it killed me.

Yes, even then.

I felt one set of eyes practically burning a hole in the back of my head, and this time I could not help but turn and regard the owner of those eyes.

My first impression of him was that there was a sort of wildness about him, something feral, yet reserved, like a chained wolf. On the surface, he was handsome enough: dark hair, eyes the colour of a meadow in spring. I was put in mind of Asfandiyar, although I did not know precisely why my mind had made that correlation.

And his eyes, they seemed to gleam with a predatory light. Had he killed before?

I shook my head to try and clear my thoughts. My imagination was clearly off running with wild horses in a faraway land, for I had no vestige of the Kusheline gift for seeing the evils that lurked beneath the eyes. I was likely making assumptions based on appearance and circumstance, which were, of course, always excellent markers of a man's character, except not at all.

[Samael Basmala]

I watched the fire-head priest-whore try, poorly, to melt himself out of the patrons' notice. Not only was he out of place among them, he didn't know how not to draw attention to himself. He moved, stood, acted with the supreme, ingrained arrogance of a princeling; I doubted he even knew he was doing it. He knew nothing of the submission the unarmed man must perforce give to the one bearing a sword. I half wished there were someone to wager with as to how long it would be until he found himself in trouble his goddess would not save him from.

He turned then, as if feeling my eyes on him, all to my amusement. Was I the one his instincts feared the most, that they'd so pinpoint me to him? I, the stranger, seemingly unarmed, nowhere near him? Or had a further absence of common sense turned him to me expecting safe harbor?

I knew I was smirking, and I made no effort to hide it. The gods be kind, I did not feel indebted to any D'Angeline, and I would not act otherwise. In a further show, I tipped my stew bowl towards him in as neutral a manner as I could, wondering what, if anything, he'd make of it. Certainly I could serve as safe haven from those around him, if he so wished. For a price. To begin with, I was sober.

[Landis d'Ames nó Mandrake]

I could say with certainty that his smirk matched the one that I often gave to others. Ironic, a god's idea of a cruel joke, perhaps. I seemed to be on the receiving end of such things in recent days.

It was becoming quite tiresome.

I watched as he tipped his bowl towards me. A strange gesture indeed, inviting but...not coercive. We Mandrakes were especially trained to be sensitive to such things, but I was a long way away from my salon and its controlled environment.

I truly do not recall deciding to walk over to his table, nor the journey itself, only the moment when I stood near him, asking: "Pardon, Messire, but is this seat soon to be occupied or is it open for use?" with the slightest note of frustration in my voice.

[Samael Basmala]

If he'd been a hound on the leash surrounded by a cove of pheasants, the fire-head couldn't have been any more full of restive impotence. Still, it was telling that he'd moved forward. He'd acted, turned to either face danger or actively seek safe harbor. Both were possibilities rife with a certain kind of courage.

And there I went again, falling under the gracious spell of this damned land and her people.

"Sit if you will." Aunt Basmala had taught me the language, but the accent would stay with me a lifetime, I did not doubt. "It will not be the most unwise decision you have made so far tonight, hm?"

From up close, the whore-priest was... startling. Here, then, was a closer view to the face of the angel-gods of Terre D'Ange. He was beautiful, an odd thing for a man. Hair, eyes, nose, cheeks, each was matched to the next in harmony better left to a houri, or a djinn; it was the play of all too human emotions beneath them that made the whole mortal.

Belatedly, I wondered what exactly had drawn such a creature to the muck of the tavern. My words, neutral as they'd been, were still an invitation of sorts. If he was looking to indulge his decadent goddess, I had just surrendered my right to refuse at knife-point. Well, it was not as if I couldn't walk away. And this was no my home, where such an answer would have been warranted. Whatever I may think of such things, I would not forget the sacred half of what he was just because I took exception to the rest of it.

[Landis d'Ames nó Mandrake]

"No apparently not," I answered as I sank into the seat. "It is the latest in the long line of unwise decisions." I sighed. "The things I do to protect my own and my property. I should think some god is having a laugh at my expense."

Oh yes, Landis, babble away, for all you know, they could be listening. Hell's bells, this man could be working for them. Well, I had already had my neck fitted for a noose, the least I could do would be to hang myself with it.

"Say, perhaps, some men came to you one night and threatened your place of business, or family, or whatever else you hold dear, else you pay them with coin you do not have." I said, meeting his eyes. "What would you do then, stranger?"

[Samael Basmala]

My first thought as he started babbling was that he was already drunk, he had to be. Such things to speak of in the middle of a nest of drunken vipers. But the fire-head didn't look drunk, or else he was intoxicated on no liquor I recognized.

"The gods like laughing at us. They like to watch us bleed, crawl and rage. Those are truths any man knows from birth." There might have been subtle emphasis on my words, a barb I could not keep myself from; was the fire-head a man, after all, or just a painted priest-whore?

"I? I have but one thing I value more than my life, fire-head. All else someone could threaten, and if I could not fight, I would find a life elsewhere. But for my princess... Ah, if any dared threaten her, if any dared sully her with even an unworthy thought, well, I'd break this bowl on their heads, use the sharp end to geld them, and leave them strung up on some tree, hanging from their own innards. A man can live a long time with his insides out of his body, if one does it right."

I worked to finish my stew, and turned to look at this odd creature at the table. "Why? Is gold rather than blood the way all servants of the goddess-whore use in this country?" I brushed crumbs off my hands. "I imagine life must be very expensive for you then."

[Landis d'Ames nó Mandrake]

I raised an eyebrow at the mention of a princess. Was he an escort for visiting royalty, then? Well, if that was the case, he could not help me, bound to duty as he was, and yet I wondered at what sort of royal would have someone so...feral...as a guardsman.

"Blood does not keep my pantry stocked and my servants happy," I replied. "And apparently the service of Naamah is not so lucrative once one's debt has been paid to one's house, but I suppose service is its own reward." I shrugged. "I would be perfectly content were it not for certain...types...howling for gold at my doorstep.

The roar of laughter so close to my ear almost made me jump out of my skin, and I half turned to regard the interloper, wincing at the scent of his breath.

"I'd watch this one, were I you, friend..." The man was clearly having trouble standing upright, blond curls swaying to and fro. I could have sworn that I had seen him before, but I did not make a habit out of frequenting the taverns in Night's Doorstep, desperate or not...

"Mandrakes...like him..." and here his pointing finger nearly grazed my nose. "They'd sooner...beat you senseless...than ride your cock..."

Suddenly, I remembered where I had met this man. He had spoiled a perfectly lovely afternoon tea with Anixiel.

I stood then, with the practiced grace of an adept of the Night Court, staring down my nose at this wreck of a man. I gave him the most arrogant smile I could muster, and I said, my tone as cool as ice:

"Tell me, messire. How many coppers would I be worth now?"

I placed my hands against his chest and shoved him.

I would not have taken much effort to cause him to stumble, but the resulting melee that ensued when he collided with a table in which a few men were engaged in cards was nothing short of spectacular. Their rage, thank the gods, seemed directed at him, and with any luck, only the other man at the table with me had witnessed the shove.

I sat down. "Pardon, that man was the source of...some unpleasantness...and they say revenge is a dish best served cold."

[Samael Basmala]

I watched the fire-head deal with the sudden interruption as would a favorite in a seraglio with any challenge to her position.

The drunkard's words meant little to nothing to me, given the priest-whore hardly looked fit for combat with better than a falling-down drunken lout, and I certainly wasn't looking to share his bed or any part of him. "As welcome as cold in summer, or heat in winter, fire-head."

I eyed him, not bothering to hide my appraisal. There might be viciousness in there, somewhere; something more than just a desire to mingle with rabble too sour to appeal to any taste. "And what do you value, fire-head? What is so important to bring you here, where you have little wish to be?" Scoffing, I offered. "Pantry and servants?"

[Landis d'Ames nó Mandrake]

I glared at him. "My mother, my father, my brothers, my lovers, my place of business, my cat..." I took a deep breath. "If their quarrel was solely with me, that I could forgive, but they threaten my family, my associates, my very livelihood!" The sound of my fist slamming into the table was deafening even to my ears.

"I will not stand by idly when so much is at stake!" I roared, hearing the singing of my blood in my veins, Camaeline fire, but I knew that attempting to solve my problems with violence at this point would lead to...much unpleasantness for me.

"Unfortunately," I spat the word out like a curse. "I am ill-equipped to wage war on these...interlopers. My business is the Service of Naamah, not warfare, nor pitched battles in the streets and alleyways, or any battles, besides battles of wit of course." I sighed a great sigh then, cradling my head in my hands. "Damn it all to Hell..."

[Samael Basmala]

He had such fire, such imperiousness, coming and going so swiftly as lightning. His concerns startled me, too; they were familiar, simple worries over hearth and home. It was one of those jarring contrasts in this land of angels, where someone who could claim a god's blood, who could serve as whore in their name, could also fret and rage over such simple, mortal worries.

I couldn't help it, I started laughing. His display had drawn attention, but it did not last; I met the eyes of the two men who were thinking of making an issue of the matter so as to break their drunken boredom, and they quickly found their lack of entertainment wholly entertaining all on its own.

Sobered, I stared at him. I'd known the fire-head less than an hour, and he'd gone from fear, through defiance, mockery, rage and despair already. I didn't think any woman I'd ever met could match that kind of speed.

"Wit will not avail you here. And I take it you have not the coin to spare, either. I thought the service of your goddess-whore was meant to be profitable, or are you just that ill-equipped of a servant to her?" I looked at him frankly. "Why come here, then, fire-head? What were you going to pay, these men or the ones you hoped to find to stand against them? Even I, stranger that I am, don't kill for free." I smirked at him. "Were you going to offer your.... 'service'"?

[Landis d'Ames nó Mandrake]

I snorted derisively at the suggestion that I was ill-equipped to serve Naamah. "The services of a Mandrake adept are for rather...refined...tastes." I said coolly, my temper now leashed, adopting a neutral expression even when he brought up the subject of payment.

"Am I correct in assuming that you are considering acting as my warden?" I asked, permitting myself a small smile. "I had considered it, of course, but you...do not seem like the sort who would...particularly enjoy the sort of service I provide." I shrugged. "I have a little coin, or, if you would prefer room and board, food, drink. My pantry is not quite bare yet, and, with protection, I will not have to push my regular patrons away for fear that their safety may be compromised."

[Samael Basmala]

One had to give it to the fire-head, he was honest, even in dire straits. When he was composed, he even looked a princeling's part, bound to dignity though his stomach might be empty, his head bare and his feet sore.

I stretched my legs under the table, leaning back minutely, my tone as neutral as my expression. "I have no interest in your services, or those of any of the priest-whores. But before I offer you my terms, fire-head, let us hear yours. What is it you want? These men chased off? Do you want them to disappear?" I gestured as a conjurer might, making a dove vanish into thin air. "Do you want blood spilled? Do you mind it? A man's life is a cheap commodity here in these slums. Lack of gold might not hamper your... hiring efforts."

[Landis d'Ames nó Mandrake]

I pressed my lips together, forming a hard line. I knew what I wanted, of course, but had given scant thought as to the means I would use to reach that end.

"I want...I want them to leave me alone." I said, my hands balling into fists. "I want these threats against my family, my very livelihood, to cease."

What are you willing to do to achieve that goal, Landis? Now, that was the crux of the matter. Was I indeed capable of giving an order that would end someone's life, however guilty they may be?

"To be honest I would prefer if we could go about it with as little bloodshed as possible," I continued. "However, I do not think I would have come here were I not intending to take...decisive...action." I sighed. "This is an ugly business, deciding what lengths one will go to protect one's own."

[Samael Basmala]

"It is only as ugly as you choose to make it." I shrugged lightly. "It may come to pass the men troubling you want for no real trouble. They see you and think of easy prey, and any one of these thugs standing at your back would send them back into their gutters. But it may come to pass that they do stand and fight, and blood is shed, and bodies need to be dealt with. It is unpleasant, and physically taxing. But if you what you value is important enough, then it is not ugly at all."

I stared at him, this strange, angel-blooded mortal, this fire-head priest-whore. How can any one land pair off such opposing concepts in one creature and still function?

And yet, function it did, this land of angels. Function and thrive.

"I could kill you for you, fire-head. So could most of the men here. There are three differences between them and I: I will listen when you tell me to hold my hand. I will ask only for payment you can give. And I will not come back to haunt your doorstep for whatever sins I commit in your name; they are mine to carry. Perhaps that does not sound so ugly to you?" I bared my teeth in a smile.

[Landis d'Ames nó Mandrake]

I shook my head. "Murder is an ugly business, no matter the hand that does the deed." It was a generous offer, certainly more than I had been expecting. There was still a concern that perhaps he was an agent of my enemy, sent to gain my trust and stab me in the back later.

On the other hand, if that were true, he could have discreetly ended my life at any point in our conversation. Why go through all the trouble just to kill an adept?

Besides, Aleron had made it quite clear that he wanted my ducats, not my blood.

"Well, I cannot imagine that anyone else in this place would be so generous," I said, having come to a decision. "'Tis a bargain, then. I have a small stable on my land, should you need to house a horse, food and shelter for yourself, and whatever else you might need, in exchange for your...ahem...hand..." so saying, I offered my hand for him to shake. "Call me Landis, or Messire D'Ames, if you prefer formalities, 'fire-head' sounds like something my paramours could say, and as you have said, those services do not interest you."

[Samael Basmala]

A safe haven for my princess. He could have offered me a bed in his midden heap, if he'd also offered me a place for Hamdani.

His wording amused me, and I chuckled low. "My hand, indeed, Messire d'Ames." Nonetheless, after a moment's consideration, I shook with him. The gods had sent their messenger, and I was not such a fool that I would ignore them. "I answer to Samael. I will make your safety my business in exchange for your terms, for my mare and myself."

[Landis d'Ames nó Mandrake]

"Samael, then," I affirmed, letting my hand drop to my side as I nodded towards the exit. "Well, shall we? I think I can fit a tour of your accommodations--such as they are--into my schedule." In truth, I felt more than a little relieved that my business here was concluded, but I wondered, as I rose and made my way towards the exit, what exactly it was that I was getting into.

Well, in for a penny, as they say....

I hoped to gods I had not made the wrong choice.