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Turin had not pressured her, at least not on his own behalf, but on several occasions, he had drawn her aside and made a point of telling her she ought to be more friendly to the patrons. Being “friendly” meant sitting at tables, or better, on laps, allowing certain intimacies as patrons bought her drinks—which were no more than
colored water—and asking if they would like a private show upstairs. For a fee, patrons of the Desert Damsel could rent a room, paying by the half hour, and receive a private dance. Any other transactions that occurred there, behind closed doors, were extra. That was how the other girls made most of their money.
Cricket was the exception. She had never gone upstairs with any of the customers, and she would sit at their tables only so long as they kept their hands to themselves. The moment any of them tried to touch her, she would politely excuse herself and leave.
“A word with you, Cricket, if I may?” said Turin to the half-elf, coming to her side as the other girls filed out of the small dressing room.
“If it is the same word, then it is the same reply,” said Cricket, checking her makeup in the mirror. Even sitting, she was the same height as he.
Turin shook his head. “Cricket, Cricket, Cricket,” he said, petulantly. “Why must you be so difficult?”
“I am not difficult at all,” she replied, carefully applying a bit more rouge to her cheeks. “I always come to work on time, and I never short the house on its share of the tips, as some of the other girls do. I am never rude to any of the customers, nor do I sit on their laps to pick their pockets. I was hired to dance, and that is what I do. If anything more was expected of me as a condition of my employment, you should have made it plain in the beginning.”
The pudgy dwarf sighed with resignation. “You take unfair advantage of me,” he said in a whining tone. “You are the most striking-looking girl I’ve got, and the best dancer, too. You know I could not afford to lose you… By the way, which of the girls short me on the tips?”
Cricket smiled. “That would be telling tales.”
Turin grimaced. “Well, I expect most of them do,” he said with a shrug. “Why should you be any different?”
“Because I do not break my agreements,” she replied, turning to face him. “If I compromised on my agreement with you, it would be only a short step to compromising on my agreements with myself, and I do not wish to lose my focus.”
“Your focus?” he repeated with a smile. “That is a dwarven concept. What would a half-elf girl know about focus?”
“I know what dwarves have taught me,” she replied. “It is a very useful concept, and I am a quick study.”
“And what is your focus?” Turin asked with a condescending little smile.
“You of all people should know better than to ask a thing like that,” said Cricket, raising her eyebrows.
Turin nodded. “Indeed,” he said. “One’s focus is a private thing. I see that you have learned at least that much. Forgive me for my rudeness.”
“No offense was meant, and none taken.”
Turin smiled. “Spoken like a dwarf,” he said, “Whoever taught you, taught you well.”
“I live in a dwarven village,” she replied. “I try to learn the customs, as a courtesy.”
“You are an unusual young woman,” Turin said. “You are not like the others.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “that is a large part of my appeal.”
“And some of the other girls resent you for it.”
“They all resent me for it,” she said. “But I did not come here to make friends, only to make money.”
“And only on your own terms,” said Turin.
“The other girls are already busy out there, circulating, yet you always remain backstage until it is your turn to dance. You could make a great deal more if you were more forthcoming with customers, you know.”
“On the contrary, I would make a great deal less,” said Cricket.
Turin stared at her thoughtfully for a moment, then pursed his lips and nodded. “You may be right, at that,” he said. “Well, that bard should be finishing up his song by now, so I’ll need to go and start the show.” He grinned. “There’s nothing like a bard to get things rolling. By the time he’s finished, they’ll be dying for some real entertainment. It’s a hungry crowd. Let’s really drive them wild tonight.”
“That I can do,” said Cricket.
Turin went back out into the main room, then Cricket heard the clamor of the crowd as the bard finished his recitation and Turin took the stage to announce the first dancer.
A moment later, the beaded curtain parted, and Edric the bard came in, looking weary and exasperated. He was dressed as usual in a loose-fitting gray tunic belted at the waist, use-worn breeches of brown leather, and soft, high-topped moccasin boots. So far as Cricket knew, they were the only clothes he owned. With a heavy sigh, he put down his harp and eased his long, lean, elven frame into a chair, running a hand through shoulder-length silver hair.
