I leave the room with my head uncovered, and as I walk down the hall, the men who are dallying around the doors by the stairwell sober up and look away or become busy with their mead-soaked clothes. The women who linger in the doorways with them watch me. The blond one that Merc was with—
Well, she’s nowhere to be seen. And I have a stupid paranoia that they’re together again, but of course that’s ridiculous.
Because he’s killing someone for me.
I’m cursing myself and Anathos in general as I descend the steps. The din in the pub reminds me of the Gauntlet, but I feel no nostalgia. I’m too busy practicing what I’m going to say. When I reach the bottom, I turn toward the flap door into the kitchen. Then I look out into the crowd. I don’t see the short-haired maid with the bruised face and the beautiful voice.
I worry all this is too late. In the event it isn’t, I have to press on.
A feeling of disassociation overtakes me as I walk into the sea of patrons, the smell of sweat, mead, and mud dimming along with the sound of the voices. The brief looks of surprise I get are as if from a great distance, and when chairs are shifted out of my path, I judge harshly the gamblers and degenerates for their pathetic need for drink and sexual distraction. They’re nothing but a herd of cattle wandering their pasture of short-term pleasure.
And I hate them.
I proceed all the way to the back, to the trestle table, and the hard, sober men who line its far side, facing out at the patrons, the working women, the barkeeps, and the maids.
Top Hat is there, presiding over everything at the head of the group.
I can’t read his face, of course, on account of that brim. All I see is the unforgiving cut of his jaw, and his dark sideburns.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” he says in a low, smooth voice. “But where is your husband. Busy?”
His attention seems to go out to the floor, and I have a thought that he knows Merc went to see one of the women—and is taunting me on purpose.
“If that’s why you’ve come,” he drawls, “I’m afraid I can’t help you. I’m a businessman, not a preacher to address the morality of husbands gone astray—”
“I need to speak to you. Alone.”
Top Hat leans back in his chair, which is bigger than all the others. A throne, for a despot who rules by the fist, no matter his fine clothes.
“Now, why would you want to do that? Speak to me.” Then he drags out a last word, as if it’s the final line of a song: “Alone.”
“I have a favor to ask.”
The chuckle that comes back at me reminds me of his smile at that stream, a warning. Like a snake’s rattle.
“This should not surprise you,” he counters, “but I am not a man who’s inclined to charity.”
“I have something to offer you in return.”
I feel his eyes travel down me slowly, and I wonder what he makes of my borrowed outfit, the one that matches the clothing of those who live here. I do not meet his gaze. Instead, I’m focused on the diamond tiepin that secures the cravat at his throat. It’s the size of a marble. And then my eyes move to the pinkie ring on his right hand. I don’t recognize the blue and green stone, but I’m sure it’s very valuable.
His crew of men are silent and still, and given that I’m used to the masculine urge to pile on when it comes to grinding down something inferior, I’m surprised none of them taunt me. For sure they are soldiers of a sort, and like any regiment, they have a uniform: They’re all dressed in versions of what Top Hat is wearing, the finely tailored suits in dark colors accented with waistcoats and golden pocket watches that are obvious—and undoubtedly, weapons that are not. The one closest to him, who sits at his right elbow, has a beard. The others have mustaches or muttonchops.
“I am intrigued—to a point,” the man in charge says. “What of you, then.”
“I will meet with you alone.”
“These are my men.” As he indicates the assembled, his pinkie ring glitters in the low light. “There is naught which they do not know.”
I don’t believe that for a moment. “What I have to offer is only for you.”
“Are you trying to get your husband killed, then?” Top Hat drums his fingers on the table as if he’s getting bored. “For what he did upstairs with mydaline? As I just told you, domestic disputes are not something I am interested inentertaining, and if you try to put me in the middle of one, I warn you, I may well settle things.”
“This has nothing to do with him.”
I can feel his stare hardening on me, and hold my ground at his tiepin.
“If we are ‘alone,’ I do not believe that will be his opinion.” Top Hat rises out of his throne. “Suit yourself, though. Far be it from me to turn down a lady’s request.”
