A twitch of puzzled amusement passed across the tall woman’s lips. “That’s not how it works, love. She’ll see you when she decides it’s time.”
“It’s from Dralky and Jemus. They said it would settle their debt.”
Melina’s brow creased into a frown. “How d’you know those two cock-brains?”
“They were kind enough to give me directions.”
They stared at one another for some time. Lizanne had known this to be a dangerous woman at first glance, her eyes detecting the outline of a concealed knife beneath her blouse. It was also safe to assume she had more secreted about her person. But Lizanne also judged her smart enough to recognise someone equally dangerous.
“If you waste her time,” Melina said finally, “she’ll make you work the first week with no pay and no wash-bucket.”
“Understood.”
“Your funeral.” Melina turned and started towards a staircase at the rear of the bar, Lizanne following and paying scant heed to the many eyes tracking over her. “What’s your name, love?” Melina asked as they climbed the stairs.
“Six-one-four.”
“Forget that shit. Need a name if you’re gonna work here. Doesn’t have to be your real one, not that it makes a difference either way. Best make it pretty though, customers prefer it. No Grubnilas or Egathas in the Miner’s Repose.”
“Krista, then,” Lizanne said. A name she had used before but those still alive to relate the tale were far away.
“Bit ordinary,” Melina said. “Get more clients if you go for something noble. It’s where I got mine. Princess Melina. It’s from an old tale about some silly tart who agrees to marry the King of the Deep.”
“I know the story,” Lizanne said. “And Krista will do.”
They ascended to the first floor where men clustered around the gaming tables in various states of excitement or despair. In the corner a slender young man sat playing a pianola, the tune now far more simple and jaunty than the cadenza she had recognised outside. Despite its simplicity, the player still managed to convey an effortless artistry as his hands floated over the keys. Most of the surrounding tables were given over to the traditional Corvantine card and dice game of Pastazch, with a couple of spin-wheels for those who preferred a more random method of losing money. Bets were placed using wooden chits, the length of which determined the value. After some judicious questioning Jemus had been particularly helpful in educating her on the system of currency adopted in Scorazin. One sack of mined minerals formed the basis of exchange, the length of the chit reflecting the value of the contents. Copper, being the most valuable, earned a five-inch chit, whilst pyrite earned four, sulphur three and coal two. Chits could be subdivided into shorter sub-units; half-sack, quarter-sack and so on. It was all surprisingly logical and, according to Jemus, worked well as long as you had the ore to back up the chits. “Anyone caught faking a chit will find himself tied to a pole with his guts around his neck on Ore Day,” he had said, offering a desperate and ingratiating laugh which had singularly failed to stir any sympathy in Lizanne’s breast.
“Welcome to the Sanctum of Earthly Bliss,” Melina said as they ascended to the top floor. It consisted of a circular chamber with a seating area of velvet-cushioned couches surrounded by a series of rooms. About a third of the doors were closed and a few employees lounged around in various states of undress. They were all heavily painted with rouged lips and cheeks, making it hard to judge their age, though Lizanne put the youngest at no more than sixteen and the eldest at close to fifty.
“New meat, Mel?” one asked, a chunky woman with a mass of auburn curls sprouting from her head in the manner of an unkempt bird’s-nest. She stepped closer to Lizanne, cigarillo dangling from her lips and an open steel flask in her hand. “Do yerself a favour and sod off to the mines, darlin’,” she advised. “I can tell you ain’t got the backbone for this.”
“Shut it, Silv,” Melina snapped, staring hard at the chunky woman until she averted her gaze and retreated to the couches. “This way,” Melina told Lizanne, moving to a corridor opposite the staircase. “Don’t mind Silvona,” she said. “She just doesn’t want the competition.”
A large man rose from a chair beside a door at the end of the corridor as they approached. He stood tall enough that his head was only an inch or two shy of the ceiling and had the broad, irregular features of a prize-fighter. The impression was heightened by the concave nose he revealed as he turned and bent to press a kiss to Melina’s cheek.
“This is Anatol,” she said, clasping and releasing the large man’s hand in a sign of genuine affection. “He’s mine, so hands off.”
Lizanne took careful note of Anatol as he looked her over, finding none of the dull-eyed desperation that had been writ so large in the faces of Jemus and Dralky. “She’s no whore,” he said to Melina in a soft voice that nevertheless retained a certain rumbling quality.
“Darkanis sent her,” Melina replied with a shrug.
“Then he should have looked closer.” Anatol angled his head, eyes narrowing as they tracked from her face to the bundle she carried. “What’s that?”
“It’s for the Electress,” Lizanne repeated.
“Jemus and Dralky’s debt,” Melina elaborated. “So she says anyway.”
“Need to see it before you see her,” Anatol said, extending a shovel-sized hand.
A quick glance at his face told Lizanne the folly of arguing the point so she handed the bundle over. He pulled the sackcloth open and peered at the contents for a moment, his only reaction a soft grunt of satisfaction. He closed the sack and once again extended his hand, staring at Lizanne in expectation until she handed over the knife she had taken from Dralky and the weighted leather sap she had taken from Jemus. “And the rest,” Anatol said.
“This was a gift,” Lizanne said, handing him Darkanis’s penknife. “I’d like it back when I leave.”
“And you’ll get it,” he said, turning and knocking on the door, “if she lets you.”
After a short delay an irritated voice sounded through the door. “For fuck’s sake, Anatol, it’s late.”
Anatol turned the handle and opened the door a fraction, dipping his head through the gap to speak in carefully respectful tones. “New arrival, Electress. Says she’s here to pay off Jemus and Dralky.”