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The window woman takes a drag from her smoke-stick. “You could say that. It’s none of us. Madam has some girls set up in the attic. Pampered bunch. Far as I know, they don’t cater to anyone but him.”
The woman with the silver teeth cackles. “He must pay a pretty penny to make it worth her while to keep ’em.”
“Does he come by every day or something?” I ask, opening my eyes wide as if in shock.
The faux-satin woman waves her hand. “Nah, more like every week. But he never stays away too long. Sweet deal, really.”
“I don’t know,” the silver-toothed woman says. “Sometimes the sounds from up there are kind of… funny. Not sure it’d be work I’d like if it’s worth that much to him.”
I knit my brow. “What kind of sounds?”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” the window woman says. “Cherille just has a wild imagination.” She shoots the other woman a quelling glance.
It doesn’t sound as if they know much more than they’ve already said anyway.
I run my finger idly across the spines of the books. The volumes are slim, but they’re not all in Silanian—some are Veldunian, a few Darium, a title that looks Icarian—and one in Woudish.
I can’t resist sliding that one off the shelf to peek at it. As far as I can make out from my layman’s knowledge, it’s a book of love poetry.
“What are all the books for?” I say, to avoid looking as if I’m specifically there to pump them for information about Ster. Torstem—and also because I’m honestly wondering.
The faux-satin woman yawns. “Oh, Madam collects some, and some the men bring. They can help set the mood if you need it, with the right type who thinks books are something exotic.”
The one in my hand is relatively exotic. I curl my fingers around it and risk another prying question. “Haven’t you everaskedthe girls in the attic what’s so special about Tomas?”
The silver-toothed woman shakes her head. “Hard to do it when we never see ’em. They’re always up there. Madam brings their meals and all.”
“I say they’ve got some sneaky secret path to go scurrying through the city at their whim,” the faux-satin woman declares.
The woman at the window doesn’t seem to appreciate my continued questioning. She adjusts her position on the sill, her voice turning brusque. “You’ll see how it all goes fast enough.”
I can feel my safety here slipping through my fingers—and it doesn’t appear these women know more that would be useful.
Surreptitiously tucking the Woudish book into the folds of my skirt, I let out a hasty giggle. “I think I’d better relieve myself before Madam comes with a client. Where’s the privy?”
“Out back.” The window woman jabs her thumb toward the hall.
As I duck out, the woman in faux-satin peals out another laugh on my heels. “Some of ’em will like it if you get ’em wet.”
I’d rather not think about that.
I dart down the dim hall, past the children at their chores, all the way to the door at the back and into yard beyond.
Weeds sprout up between cracked limestone tiles of the modest courtyard. Spinning around, I peer up at the roof.
Ladies in the attic. That’s who Ster. Torstem comes to see—ladies no oneelseseems to see.
How very odd indeed.
Nobody appears to be paying much attention to what’s going on outside the brothel. Maybe I can take a peek from out here.
As I slink around the building, considering my options, a few raindrops patter onto my hair. By the time I’ve made my decision and am clambering up the more scalable of the two trees, a steady drizzle flecks my skin with a chilly layer of moisture and streaks across the silk of my gown.
“Casimir’s going to have to get me another new dress,” I mutter in an undertone.
Julita laughs, though a thread of nervousness winds through her voice.Somehow I don’t think he’ll mind. He’d dress up the other men too if they’d let him.
I manage to brace myself in the crook of a branch by the slant of the roof. The attic holds no windows or other openings that I can see.
