Remedy Maker (20 page)

Rhy reached up and jerked the leather thong out of his hair. Once again, his
happy place
chased the ugly memories away, but left raw need in its place.

Like a mind reader, Alek asked, “What’s going on with you and Patience?”

Rhy fought his smile but Alek caught it, and snorted. He went on to explain, anyway. “I don’t know. It feels good, but . . . you know. I can’t be around anyone, not like that.”

“Maybe if you give it a while, it’ll be different this time,” Alek suggested.

Rhy hefted the backpack higher on his shoulder, suddenly uncomfortable discussing his private life. He motioned ahead of them. “Let’s do this.”

Aleksander took a last glance around before pressing an indention found in the side of the rock. The cap of the boulder lifted with smooth hydraulic action, and a cacophony of noise and coarse language instantly assailed them. Alek waved Rhy ahead of him and followed behind his swinging tail. Once swallowed by the dim interior, the hatch cover sealed with a clang.

Luminescent mineral lighting, like those used in the palace, had replaced the rancid wall torches of a century ago. Black scorch marks marred the rock walls in ten-foot intervals, scars from the past.

Rhy and the wall had a connection there.

A pitched ramp took them down into the bowels of the smoke-filled, deviant atmosphere. Small round wooden tables speckled the barroom floor like mushroom heads, worn stools creating rings around each. Satyr cocktail waitresses, with nimble cloven hooves, darted between the crowded tables, maneuvering away from groping hands. Their skimpy, open backed blouses and micro-minis garnered them plenty of attention—although not much in tips, judging by the looks on their faces.

Patience’s own style reflected class and elegance, even in a sassy skirt and sexy top. He clenched his jaw, hoping Daisy would keep her word and not let Patience out of her tree until he returned.

Alek gave a narrowed, glinting gaze, searching the crowd through the smoky haze. “I don’t see him. Let’s check the back.” He cut his way between the patrons, pushing two drunken Trolls out of his way.

A semi-nude Nymph, barely out of her teens, shuffled her feet behind black iron bars fastened with an oversized padlock. A beauty mark, enhanced by cosmetics, spotted the side of her mouth. Her lack of expression mimicked the enthusiasm in her cage dance. Nobody paid her much attention; the music drowned out by raised voices.

What a way to make a living. Rhy pulled his eyes away from the unfortunate girl and planted them on Aleksander’s wide shoulders. He was thankful Patience’s career kept her far away from the dregs of Boronda’s underworld lifestyle, though she’d had a taste of the hidden dangers that lurked within. He felt his hand curl into a fist just thinking of how he had almost lost her.

The boisterous crowd parted before the seven-foot Centaur in full battle gear. Envious eyes, attracted to the glimmering shine of throwing stars and Alek’s valuable sword, warily observed them over their drinks. Buzzing conversations dipped at their approach, and continued in low murmurs once they passed by.

Rhy patted his waist and hip, double-checking that his knives were in place. All manner of creatures drank their lives away in the bleak hole of
The Mare
. The growing world, with all its technological advances, had brought his people to this: hiding in a miserable fucking hole.

But . . . isn’t that how I live? Hiding in my cabin?

Two serving platters of empty shot glasses hovered next to his shoulder a moment before a Satyr with thick kohl eyeliner parted the trays to appear. The top of her head reached the bottom of his chest.

“There’s an empty table in the rear,” she shouted above the noise. “I’ll come back for your drink order.” The waitress scooted away, dodging rude comments and groping hands, her two black hooves a blur in motion. Satyr agility worked to their advantage in this arena of thugs.

On the other side of the room, a narrow hall connected the seating area in the rear to the front taproom. On either side of the dark walkway, wooden doors marked Stag and Doe hung from tired hinges. The further back they went, the further the wall sconces were spaced. Light decreased in subtle increments.

Alek stopped and tapped Rhy’s chest with the back of his hand. “He’s in the corner. Come on.”

The throng of loud customers packing the front, thinned out in the back room. But the cold, dead look in their eyes increased.

A shaggy brown Minotaur smoking a hand-rolled stuck his hairy leg out and blocked Rhy’s path, challenging with a chipped hoof in front of his seated Minotaur friends. The male drew on his blunt, gathering a lungful of smoke, and blew it in Rhy’s direction, shaking his horns.

Rhycious locked his four legs and braced them wide. He reached across his body for his hip sword, but it wasn’t there.
Gamóto!

“Lose something, Centaur?” The bull leaned back in his chair, took another drag, and laughed a sound between a moo and bark. He flicked his ashes to the floor and used his tail to knock them toward Rhy.

These assholes were way out of their league and he almost felt sorry for them.

 
Almost.

Rhy reached out with his hoof closest to the Minotaur, and hooked it around the chair’s leg. A quick upward sweep, and the chair tipped backward, crashing the bull-headed male to the floor.

“Mutherfucker!” The guy floundered on the beer soaked floor, looking like a beetle, trying to get his two clovens under him.

Rhy smiled smoothly, betraying none of his annoyance. He helped the Minotaur out by crunching the creature’s tail under his hooves and continued on to Aleksander, but paused for a moment.

He leaned to be certain the male heard him clearly. “Be sure to ice your wound to reduce the swelling.”

The Minotaur’s friends glared, their faces set in a vicious expression. One slid back his stool from the table and stood, throwing a red-tipped smoke to the floor. A smaller male seated next to him grabbed the guy’s shirt and whispered, inclining his head toward Rhy. In tandem, they stared at his silver armband.

Savella’s twin scythes caught the dim bar light. The Minotaur obviously thought better of it and sat back down.

Rhy walked over to Alek, who watched him from the corner table, arms crossed over his chest plate. A shit-eating grin creased his face, radiating lines outward from his eyes.

He unfolded an arm to slap Rhy on the shoulder. “Yup, just like old times.”

“
Gamóto.
I’m getting too old for this.” Rhy swished his tail out of the way of a scampering cocktail waitress.

Aleksander’s expression sobered and grew serious once again. He indicated the man at the table sitting in shadow. “This is Nubbs. He might be able to help us.”

Fifteen

Nubbs poured himself another shot of brandy and set the bottle on the table. From where he sat, in the furthest corner of the darkest room in the bar, he observed two recently arrived centaurs scanning the smoke-filled pub. Both wore Savella’s royal signature armband and sharp eyes that narrowed on each patron’s face.

Hell, who could miss them? Their silver glinted across the length of two hazy rooms.

The first warrior, decked out in military rags, seemed to be enjoying himself with a confidential air Nubbs recognized. This was Kempor Aleksander, Queen Savella’s head palace guard. His close-cropped, black goatee and arrogant swagger were hard to dismiss from Nubbs’s memory, even after seventy-some years.

What the hell was
he
doing here?

The Centaur in true form following Aleksander wasn’t familiar to Nubbs. Long dark hair touched the man’s broad shoulders, the clean-shaven jaw set. His buckskin coat gleamed smooth and shiny under the phosphorescent light. He filled out his civy shirt well.

This man gave Nubbs pause for consideration.

He took a sip of the drink he poured, and let it sit on his tongue and infuse his senses. The true Centaur’s long scar on his hairless cheek wasn’t made from a female’s fingernail in the throes of passion. That much Nubbs was certain. The way his eyes darted around the bar’s interior, zeroing in on the new cage dancer, gave away his personal agenda.

Nubbs discreetly glanced at the drinkers around him, wondering what the two Centaurs were looking for. Drugs? If so, they had come to the right place.

No. He swallowed hard. They didn’t seem the type to get jacked up.

Shit.
Not some-
thing
. He threw back the rest of his shot and reached to pour another. The Centaurs were looking for some-
one
.

Nubbs felt like a circus performer who spun plates on the ends of long sticks balanced high above him. He had taken time to set up his various activities just the way he wanted them. Years, actually. Up to, and including, the lackeys who worked for him. He ran the best operation in Boronda, and he made damn sure there wasn’t a goddamn one of them that cheated or stole from him.

Unlike the fucking Wood Nymph who had tried to shimmer him into a tree during the war—and got away with the tips of his fingers. Four of his left hand digits had been stuck in the tree’s trunk with a full-blown battle waging around him. Aleksander had cut him free.

Aleksander
. Who did he want to find at
The Three Legged Mare
?

At the table next to him, a couple of drug-crazed Water Nymphs were shoving their tongues down each other’s throats. The female kept moaning “mercy”, although by the looks of it, she didn’t want any.

Nubbs made a mental note to talk to the girl once the guy took a hike. He could use a new Nymph over on the east side.

He’d had himself some Nymph once, and blew his load in under a minute. While it didn’t do much for his manhood, that species was great for business. And that’s what it was all about. Calling the shots, hiring fresh meat, and culling those who no longer profited. He couldn’t afford to lose business, so he kept it all under a tight rein. What encompassed his self-made empire were black market deals, gambling, prostitution, and drugs. Nubbs made sure he was the go-to guy.

Bacchus.
He set the full glass away from him. It was bullshit that he was here in the first place. He could have sent one of his deputies to handle things.

And there they were, the two Centaurs, headed his way with iron in their backs. He lifted his hand to his face, scrubbed his eyes hard, and cussed again. Shit like this is what gave Centaurs like him bleeding ulcers.

Apparently, those internal boils didn’t like their brandy neat.

He rode out the pain that speared through his gut, and gasped for breath. Then he picked up the full glass and shot it down.
Fuck my ulcer
.

Aleksander stepped up to the corner table; his buddy had been delayed by the smoked-out Minotaurs.

Nubbs, formerly of the Centaur Royal Guard, shifted his gaze from the longhaired Centaur with forbidding eyes to his former squad mate. There was an official glint in Aleksander’s eye that prickled the hairs on the back of Nubbs’s neck. He remembered that look well. It was what had propelled Alek to the top of the military food chain, while Nubbs had quietly walked away, content in his undisclosed position in a little-known royal office that didn’t have a damn thing to do with palace politics.

“Nubbs. How you doin’, man?” Aleksander grasped the outstretched hand and gave it a hearty shake. “It’s been a long time.”

“Aleksander. I haven’t seen you in almost seventy-five years. How’s it hanging?” Nubbs hadn’t gotten where he was by not knowing how to play the game. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out under the table. If Alek wanted something, let him bring it up.

Alek gestured with a thumb over his shoulder to the man he’d walked in with. “Hundred bucks says Rhycious takes the Minotaur out in one move.”

“Why not? I’m bored.” He dug the dough out of his front pocket. “You’re on.”

Propped up by the wall behind him, Alek crossed his arms, and Nubbs waited.

“Do you still have your fingers in what goes on around here?” Alek asked.

Bingo.

“I might.”

“What have you heard about anarchy?”

What have I
not
heard? “
Depends on which side of the line you stand.” He picked up the bottle and tilted it, handing the filled glass to Alek.

“I stand where I always have.” Alek slugged it down and hissed between his teeth. “The side where you stood and served next to me for two hundred years.” He handed the glass back.

They watched his friend upend the Minotaur’s chair and walk toward them. Very smooth—it was a practiced move on the Centaur’s part. Nubbs slid the benny across the dirty table.

Aleksander laughed and pocketed the money, crossing his arms again. When the other man joined them, Nubbs signaled the waitress for two more glasses. The easygoing camaraderie between Alek and his friend spoke of years of common knowledge. Other than a brother who refused his family ties with him, most everyone Nubbs knew before the war was dead.

“This is Nubbs,” Alek indicated with his chin. “He might be able to help us.” He lifted an elbow and dipped his head toward his friend. “This is Rhycious. We’re working together.”

And this has mission written all over it.
Fuck
. He hated assigned operations and, the gods knew, his had been one gut-wrenching
cluster-fuck
after another.

He shook hands with Rhycious, and Nubbs indicated to Alek the empty stool across from him. The transitioned Centaur could stand. Alek twirled the chair around and straddled it.

Rhycious leaned down and kept his voice low. “I need information on an underground movement. One slated to shove Savella off her throne.”

Nubbs checked his watch. His meeting with the arms dealer wouldn’t start for another hour. It had taken forever to set it up, and he wasn’t going to blow that deal.

“I don’t know much,” he lied. “Just that it’s an inside job. Someone in a position to reap from Her Majesty’s demise.”