Best Left in the Shadows (2 page)

The Rat leaned forward, his hands gripping the walkway, and
he leered down at Alys. “The Blacktide says the information is mine, broker.
Information is your trade. You want mine, you offer me a deal, sweet-like,
then, maybe I’ll tell you what I saw,” he said as the other Stevedore Rats
around on the scaffolding laughed and cheered him on.

Alys locked eyes with the man, and her lips peeled back
into a cruel grin. “Oh dear Master Hookworm. A deal, you say? Well then, here
is my offer. I offer silence, Hookworm,” she said, her voice shifting from the
playful lightness of her previous conversation to a cold, edged tone. “I offer
my continued silence, Hookworm, about that night with you and the bucket of
fish,” she said.

Hookworm reacted as if she had stuck him in the nethers
with a sharpened blade.

“T—Tigress,” Hookworm stammered out. “Saw her going to the
Tigress!”

“You’re sure?”

“That’s where she went when I spied her. It was just before
sundown. I swear it!”

Alys gave him a gentle smile. “I thank you, Master
Hookworm.” She gave a deep bow to the Blacktide, then turned to Dax. “Get us
moving.”

Dax moved to the other side of the skiff and began to pole
them away, back down the canal and out of the Sumpworks.

“Lot of brass in there, Dax. Bartering with the Blacktide.”

“It worked,” Dax said.

“It did,” Alys replied. “It also could have gotten us both
killed. Next time, you let me do the talking. That’s why you’re paying me.”

He nodded and gave her a small smile. “Master Hookworm
looked quite surprised.”

Alys’s expression softened and she grinned back. “He most
certainly did.”

Poling the skiff through the dark tunnel, the two were
quiet for a moment. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what happened with
him and the bucket of fish?” Dax said.

Alys settled back onto the floor of the skiff. “Sure,” she
said with a smile. “But not for free.”

The Lady or the Tiger

The mist had grown heavier, like a drizzle that did
not fall so much as lie upon the very air itself. Alys walked down the street,
her boot heels making a sharp rhythm in the muffled air. As she walked, she
methodically cracked each knuckle on her first hand, and then the other before
starting over again.

The Tigress
, she thought.
The thrice-damned
Tigress
.

“That thing is almost as big as you are.”

Alys was so caught up in her own thoughts that she barely
heard Dax when he spoke. “What?” she asked.

He gestured with a finger toward the large scythe across
her back. “That monstrosity. You didn’t have it back when we…” he paused. “The last
time I saw you.”

“Oh,” Alys said. “My Aunty. Well, you see, Inspector, in a
fight, it’s the blade you don’t see that is the one that’ll be your gasper. So
while everyone is so focused on what Aunty is up to…” She gestured down to the
twin daggers hanging from her belt. “They don’t see these.”

As Dax’s eyes tracked down, she let the weighted end of the
garrote drop from her sleeve and in a blur, it was up and wrapped around the
Inspector’s throat. “And they surely don’t see this,” she said drawing him closer
till her face was mere inches away from his.

“Cute,” Dax said, slowly sliding a finger up between the
thin wire and the exposed flesh of his collar.

“Aren’t I though?” she said, releasing the tension and
allowing the garrote to slip free.

She moved ahead of him, not quite willing to allow herself
to walk at his side. Her hand trailed over the stones of the buildings as she
walked, feeling the contours of the carved images under her fingertips.
Highside might have the beautiful marble statues of the First Ascended, but the
simple relief carvings on every Lowside building always felt more right to her.

“So are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” Dax
asked. “It’s making me nervous.”

His tone was light, but there was enough underneath to show
he was not totally unaware of her shift in mood. She bristled at having her
discomfort called out so easily, but she wasn’t surprised. He had always been
better at reading people than she gave him credit for.

Especially her.

Of course, that went both ways. Since she had seen him on
the docks, it had been apparent there was something Dax was withholding.

“I’m not crazy about going to brothels,” she said with a
shrug.

“A what? A brothel? What would Lydia be doing in a
Prionside brothel?”

“Why do most people go to brothels?”

He wrinkled his lip. “You don’t believe Lydia Ashdown was
paying for… ahem… well, you know, any more than I do.”

“You said she was seeing someone her parents didn’t approve
of. And I didn’t say she was paying for it.”

That seemed to give him pause. He had his thinking frown
on, she noticed. “Do you think it was love?” he asked. “That perhaps she fell
in love with someone from the Tigress?”

Oh, Dax
. Always the idealist. There was a time when
Alys had loved that about him, but that was when they had been childish and
foolish and weak. Alys wasn’t any of those things anymore.

“Look. I’m not doubting the power of a Highside bleeding
heart, but let me tell you how it works in Lowside.” She gestured to the
streets around them, the mud and cobbles, refuse-filled gutters, and
tightly-packed stone and wood buildings.

“You grow up down here, you don’t dream of true love. You
dream of opportunity. So, you see a Highside toff making time with a Lowsider,
that’s not a love story for the troubadours. That’s a mark about to be skinned.”
She offered him a conciliatory shrug. “So, no, I don’t think it was love, Dax.
I think she was being conned.”

“I see your opinion of people is as low as it always was.”

“When you meet the Tigress, you’ll understand why.”

“I thought the Tigress was a brothel.”

“The Tigress is both place and person, and the world would
be a damn sight better if both were burned to the ground and someone pissed on
the ashes,” Alys said in an even voice.

Dax grimaced. “Charming.”

“Oh, the place oozes charm. Like an open sore. Speaking of
which, I suppose I should recommend you not avail yourselves of the services of
the house.”

“But I was hoping they might offer breakfast,” he said with
a disappointed sigh.

“Humor, Magistrate Inspector? Well done, but since we’ve
arrived at our destination, perhaps it is time for you to reassume your
customary mantle of serious, sullen bastard.”

She gestured up above her head. A worn wooden sign swung in
the wind. The sign itself had been crudely shaped and painted to look like a
roaring tiger with a nude woman astride the back, but the paint was so faded
and worn that the only remaining bits of color were dark black stripes.

Alys walked up the two steps and stood in front of the door
made from thick wood and reinforced with rusted iron bands. She rapped twice on
the door. A small panel opened, revealing an eye and part of a scarred face.
The eye roved over Alys.

“Hello, Raff,” Alys said, giving her sweetest smile to the
scarred visage in the peephole.

The small panel slammed shut. A moment later, the sharp
sounds of bolts being thrown back sounded and the heavy door swung open.
Inside, was a massive man, his bald head and face heavily scarred and the lid
of his left eye hanging limply down. He nodded his immense head in Alys’s
direction, but it was hard to see where the movement originated from, as he
seemed to possess no discernible neck.

Alys rested a hand on one of his immense forearms. “Squinting
Raff, allow me to introduce Magistrate Inspector Daxton Ellis.”

“Another magistrate,” Squinting Raff growled. “Place is
lousy with them this week, and the last one didn’t even pay fully.” He towered
over Dax and pushed a finger the size of a blood sausage into Dax’s chest. “You
pay yours upfront, gray-bars,” he growled. “New house policy, thanks to
your friend skipping on the doxy’s due.”

Dax’s face showed utter shock, though Alys couldn’t tell
which had ruffled him more: being accosted by the mountain of flesh that was
Squinting Raff, or that he was not the first magistrate to visit the Tigress of
late.

Alys grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the guard.
Pushing aside the heavy velvet curtains, she escorted Dax into the heart of the
Tigress.

Inside, the parlor was lush and decadent. Light shone behind
colored glass coverings, causing a fantastic array of colors to cover the
space. Rugs with gaudy and intricate designs covered the floor. On chairs and
divans across the room rested men and women in outfits that were as ridiculous
as they were revealing. They were meant to appear tantalizing and seductive,
but Alys had long ago stopped looking only at the bodies and clothing. Now, all
she could focus on were the eyes. Sunken. Hollow. Desperate.

She loathed this place.

As she and Dax entered, all eyes were upon them, and as
soon as they seemed to recognize Alys, they were off their seats, pressing
around her.

“Alys, got something juicy for you. Won’t cost you much,”
said one woman.

A young man tried to catch her eye. Gold, she thought might
be his name, but she wasn’t sure. It had been a while since she was last here
and it was so damned hard to keep up. “I’ve got drops on the Gray Needle bunch.
Good. Valuable,” he said, but Alys shook her head.

“Got dirt on a Highside toff, Sewall his name was. Good
dirt, Alys!” a girl named Genna said, reaching out toward her.

“Alys!”

“Dirt!”

“Won’t cost you much.”

But Alys wasn’t listening. This was part of the reason she
hated coming to a brothel. Every whore had information to sell, but usually it
was shit. Exaggerated and twisted to make it seem richer, juicier, and worth
more money. Even off their backs, they couldn’t stop deceiving.

“I’m not fishing tonight,” Alys said, raising her voice a
bit to be heard over the clamor. “I’m looking for one piece. Highside twist. More
lamb than mutton. Came by earlier in the night. So who’s got something juicy
now?”

At her words, the crowd of prostitutes grew quieter, and
before she had finished speaking, they were already slinking back to their
seats. From the upstairs landing, she heard a woman clear her throat. When the
affected tones of that nasally voice came, Alys understood why the whores had
all gone quiet. Her teeth clenched.

“Why, dear little Rose, how good to see you.”

Alys raised her eyes to the landing. At the top of the
staircase was a woman in a long dress and a fur mantle draped over her
shoulders. She was the epitome of faded, wilted elegance. The once-beautiful
face was caked with heavy powder and brightly colored rouge on her cheeks. Her
lips were painted with a spot of vibrant red in the very middle, giving them a
perpetual pout that was intended to make her look young and coquettish, but
instead made her look sour.

The Tigress.

Alys took a step back. “You forget, Tigress. It’s Alys,”
she said, keeping her voice even. “Not Rose. Alys.”

The Tigress, wafted a hand dismissively in the air and
batted her heavily colored eyes. “Of course, dear. It is just so hard to keep
track of the little, insignificant details.”

It was an easy shot. A cheap shot. But, as always with the
Tigress, it wasn’t the opening shot to worry about. That would be the knife she
slipped in when you were distracted.

Despite knowing better, Alys felt the words coming to her
mouth almost unbidden. “Of course,” she said with a sweet smile. “Totally
understandable. They say the first thing to go with age is the memory.” That
was a cheap shot too, she had to admit. For a flash of a moment, she felt a
little ashamed at reaching for such low-hanging fruit, but when she saw
the lines around the Tigress’s eyes tighten she couldn’t help adding, “Or is it
the looks?”

The Tigress began to come down the wooden steps. “From what
I have observed among the more aged of our clientèle, it is the sense of whimsy
that leaves first. As the years go by, there are so few surprises left in the
world.” She paused on the last of the steps and let her heavy-lidded gaze
fall upon Dax. “And yet, there can still be a shock or two left.”

She grinned and Alys felt the cold tension in her stomach
tighten even more. There was the Tigress’s knife, aimed squarely at Alys’s
weakest point.

Dax.

“My little pets,” the Tigress said, clapping her hands.
Immediately, every whore in the room sat up straight, attentive as a child at
lessons, their unwavering attention on the Tigress. “Why it seems we are
blessed this evening.” She walked to Dax and trailed her hand across the cloth
of his gray, magistrate’s coat. “This is young master Daxton Ellis, son to the
High Chancellor himself.”

In perfect choreography, every whore in the room prostrated
themselves at the name. There was a breathy, whispered chorus of honorifics as
each whispered “My lord.”

Even postured, Alys saw the look in their eyes. Saw desire
and hunger not born of lust, but opportunity.

Dax’s face showed his surprise. “You know me, madam?”

“Oh, everyone knows you, my dear. Or they know your story,
at least,” the Tigress intoned. “The little orphan girl who thought she could
rise to the station of a noble. And not just any noble house, mind you, but the
trueborn line of Aedan himself. How is your uncle, the king?”

Even from across the room, Alys saw Dax’s face grow pale,
and he froze in place. Alys shook her head, trying to break the old madam’s
control of the room. “You going to waste time with history, Tigress? When there
is business to be done?”

The Tigress locked eyes with her. “But it is so fascinating
a history, my dear girl. You cannot deny my little darlings their
entertainment.” Her eyes gleamed behind the garish make-up and skewered
Alys with her gaze. “You must let them fawn and have some small amount of fun
with him, dear. They will likely never get to be so near such a bright star as
this again. And don’t you worry. Thanks to you, they already know what happens
if they get too close.”

Alys glared back, but as angry as she was, Dax seemed more
furious. His jaw was clenched hard enough that the muscles in his neck stood
out. And she was not the only one who had picked up on it. Squinting Raff was
easing behind Dax, a hand already on his blade in the event there was to be
trouble.

She wasn’t happy about it but she choked back her anger.
The Tigress would get hers one day. Just not today.

“Fair cop, Tigress. You’ve made your point.”

“What point is that, dear?”

Alys ducked her chin. “Your house. Your rules.”

“Indeed,” the Tigress replied, sauntering to one of the
couches to distractedly stroke the hair of one of the young men, before pushing
him away. “So, perhaps you can explain what brings you and the dear magistrate
inspector to my house at this unholy hour,” she said to Alys as she walked
over.

Alys’s nose filled with the scent of her, cloying and
overpowering. Rosewater and lavender and spice-chew. It made the bile
rise in the back of Alys’s throat. “There was a dead girl found down at the
docks. Highborn. She came here before that.”

The Tigress looked at Alys with her heavy-lidded eyes
and an expression of utter boredom. “And?”

“What can you tell us about her then?” Dax asked, seemingly
recovered enough from his shock and anger to speak out.

“Well, that of course depends on what you are willing to
pay. Tell me, Magistrate Inspector, what is the little slattern worth to you?”

Dax drew himself tall and straight. “That girl was a Lady
of a noble house and family.”

The Tigress laughed, a sound that ranged uncomfortably
between sultry and mocking. “Oh, believe me, Inspector. I am quite familiar
with Lydia Ashdown.”