Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
“No,” I say roughly. “Thank you.”
She bows to me, just as yet another young woman with another tray, this time with plates, approaches to enter. With a sense of futility, I back up and turn to the stairs—where I catch sight of one of the maids who’s out in the tables. Drunks paw at her and tweak her skirt, trying to pull her into their laps. To their credit, the working girls who are treated with better respect defend her, slapping at the patrons’ hands and glaring, but there’s only so much they can do. Coupled with the low pay, the cook’s hard hand …
I hate it all. I’m filled with rage.
And still I do not find the barmaid I’m searching for.
As I go to the stairs and head upward, I feel no better when I reach the top and see all the men gathered around those rooms. I’m hoping one of them gets in my way, but they step aside to allow me passage. When I arrive at the end of the hall, I disappear myself into my room, and the first thing I do, after I enter, is throw the bolt.
But it feels like I’ve locked myself in, rather than made sure no one gets to me.
I go over and sit on the bed. My hands want something to do, but as the felt skirt settles itself with a bend at my knees like a kink in a branch, there isn’t anything to smooth. Glancing down, I see that I messed up the do-up with the blouse, and as I yank the buttons out of their stitched holes, I think of all the things I’ve wished I could try again—
Knock. Knock.
Knock.
My head lifts. And then I rush for the door and unbolt it. “Merc, what happ—”
It’s not him.
I instantly focus on the diamond that is centered on that cravat.
Behind Thale, the corridor has gone absolutely still and quiet. Neither the working women nor their patrons are saying a word, and their bodies are frozen in what I’m guessing were the positions they were in when the big man himself made his appearance.
I step back and indicate the way inside.
Taking off his top hat, Thale enters wordlessly, and I shut the door.
“You left this behind,” he says roughly as he focuses on the floor.
From out of the interior of his fine jacket, he takes a silk handkerchief embroidered with golden thread.
“That’s not mine.”
“Then perhaps you’d like it.”
“You didn’t need a pretext to come up here.”
Putting it back into his pocket, he walks around, checking the shutters, and the corner where there’s evidence of an old leak at the ceiling. He leans into the water closet.
“You need more oil in your lamp. I shall see to that.”
I just wait. Soon enough, he turns to me.
“Which maid,” he says gruffly as his eyes remain at my feet.
My exhale of relief is audible. “The one the cook is beating.”
“That hardly narrows it.”
Flattening my mouth, I pray that the death is happening, right now. “She has a twin who works in the stables.”
Thale nods once. “I know her. Consider it done.”
I take a step forward, focusing on his face as if I am staring down the barrel of a pistol I know how to use. “Just so we’re clear, I will know whether you live up to your side of things. And there will be remedies if you do not.”
Now he frowns, even as he continues to stare at the floor. “My word is bond, no matter what you think of me.”
I hope this is true, because I know I’m lying. I can’t do anything about it if he fails to uphold his vow, but the bluff is the only leverage I have.
Fates, I don’t even know if the girl still lives.
“And now you need to tell me,” he says quietly. “You showed me a lot, but I need the one piece you kept to yourself.”
Opening my mouth, I realize I’m condemning yet another man to death—and yet my words are smooth on my tongue. “The bearded man. The one who sits next to you.” Now I’m frowning. “I don’t understand the weapon, though.”
Thale closes his eyes as if he’s bracing himself. “Tell … me.”
I hold out my hands about twelve nics apart. “It was a blade, but it looked like a piece of ice, about this big. But there was no dripping as if it was melting? I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything like it before.”
Thale breaks off from me and paces around again. He holds his top hat with both hands, and his brows are drawn so tightly together, they seem to curl his upper lip, his white teeth making an appearance.
“What kind of knife is it?” I ask.
He stops and stares at the closed shutters. “It’s made from a chip off the Crystal Gate.”