Many people walked through her doors and enjoyed themselves in private rooms in Paradis. No one on the premises kept track of who entered and who left. No one watching would ever see smuggled debt slaves with their bank tattoos painted over with makeup slip inside and down into the storage basement. They would not see one of Scarlette’s artists tattoo necks with flowers beneath the glow of a gas lamp with gentle hands.
They would not see the debt slaves escape to freedom with falsified loan discharge paperwork and newly bought train tickets in hand to ride the rails into as desperate an obscurity as they could find.
That was why Nathaniel did this. That was why he’d become a cog, like his father and mother: because debt bondage was a nightmare they hoped to help eradicate. And while their family’s business could not carve out the wealth attained on the backs of debt slaves, they could use that same business to help free as many people as possible until the nightmare was over.
“Helpful, as always,” Scarlette said with a sharp nod.
She folded up the manifest, but rather than return the copy to Nathaniel, she retrieved a match from a box on the credenza. Once it was lit, she stuck the corner of the manifest into the flame. It caught fire immediately, and she dropped the paper into the small fireplace, a luxury only her room had in Paradis.
The manifest burned until nothing was left but ash.
Scarlette turned to face them, professional smile back in place on her painted lips. “Now, where were we? I believe you boys are here for a good time.”
Nathaniel dipped his head at that but didn’t move toward the bed. Blaine, he saw, had a pained look in his eyes the other man couldn’t quite hide. “I think perhaps a game of cards will suffice.”
Scarlette blinked at him before throwing back her head and laughing. “Cards, is it? And who might have stolen your heart these days that my bed no longer entices?”
Nathaniel wasn’t sure about his heart but definitely his attention. Given enough time, he was certain he could lose both to Miss Caris Dhemlan. “A young lady who enjoys racing carriages.”
“She sounds anything but boring, darling. You know what I think about boring.”
He did, and Nathaniel didn’t stop the smile that came to his face at her words.
Blaine looked far more relieved now that he knew they weren’t going anywhere near the bed. He’d come along tonight because Meleri had wanted someone else to know this particular duty that had been Nathaniel’s for the last several years. If Nathaniel was unable to perform the handoff, they needed a backup.
“I’ll go find us a set of cards and something to drink. Make yourselves comfortable,” Scarlette said before sweeping out of her bedroom.
“You heard the lady,” Nathaniel said as he settled on the floor. “I hope you’re okay with losing money.”
“Fancy yourself a card shark?” Blaine asked as he sat with his back up against the footboard of the bed.
“Not in the least, but Scarlette could steal your life savings even with a bad hand.”
Blaine smiled at the warning, and Nathaniel settled in for the hour of time brothel-goers were expected to spend in one of Paradis’ bedrooms.
Thirteen
PORTIA
Portia had lived all thirty-nine years of her life in the Eastern Basin. Dry and arid, the plant and animal life that flourished there did so in spite of the environment, not because of it.
The motor carriage Caris drove hit a pothole in what passed for a dirt road, causing Portia to nearly slide off the back seat. She braced a hand against the roof of the motor carriage, the other keeping her wide-brimmed hat from falling off.
“Sorry!” Caris yelled over her shoulder without turning her head.
The windows were cranked down halfway, and the hot air felt like a weighted blanket all around them in Seventh Month. The dust blown up by the tires didn’t help any, even if the gas mask and goggles Portia wore did. The sucking sound of her breath through filters was as familiar as anything else out here.
“This isn’t a racing carriage,” Emmitt called out from beside her.
“I know!”
Portia shared a glance with her husband through the tempered glass of their goggles. Caris had a lead foot and steady hands, but that didn’t mean either of them cared for the speed she liked to travel at. Their motor carriage’s engine had been modified by Caris, which meant the vehicle carrying their employees and hired gunslinger had a difficult time keeping up.
“You were the one that let her behind the wheel,” Portia said.
“I like how she’s my daughter when she’s acting like a madwoman and not yours,” Emmitt said cheerfully.
The motor carriage bounced through another pothole, and Portia steadied herself. In the front, Caris kept her right hand on the gearshift, changing gears as needed as she drove them deeper into the wilderness of the Eastern Basin.
