Morning has come, and with it the first flies of the day. They buzz lazily about the single window of the tiny, disheveled apartment belonging to the streetwalker who calls herself Angelica. It isn't her real name, of course, but Banio Phelbt doesn't mind. If she wants to raise her skirts as Angelica rather than Maude or Ethel, then it's all the same to him. Indeed, he appreciates the irony.
He's seated at the foot of the whore's bed, his legs dangling over, while the big woman sprawls above him in a dressing gown that needed a good washing even before last night's festivities. The bedclothes are all knotted up; one pillow dangles and the other is on the floor somewhere. The place smells of sweat and human ejaculate, but Banio scarcely notices. He is, after all, a Biskerstafian born and bred.
"You were fantastic, milord," the woman coos, rolling onto her back and stretching her plump white arms above her head.
Banio watches the tiny shadows that the flies make on the floor as they crawl across the window pane.
"We both know that's bullshit," he answers, with peculiar good nature. He hops down, finds his waistcoat on the floor, and retrieves a few pennies that he tosses 'Angelica's' way.
"Go and get me sausages. Keep what you don't spend. That's all the coin you'll have from me today."
The woman huffs. But she retrieves the pennies, stuffs herself into a dress just as dirty as her gown, and sweeps out of the room.
Alone at last, Banio drags his satchel from under the bed. He sits cross-legged on the floor and arranges before himself the night's gains. There's the common jewelry, one part of which he gave the road warden to send her on her way. There are the two fine elvish rings, which Phelbt hopes will fetch an equally fine price. And there is the strongbox, still closed, containing the bauble they were tasked to retrieve.
Now, of course, would be the time for Banio Phelbt to make himself scarce. Trusova doesn't know the city well; he could easily elude her long enough to pawn all of this treasure for himself. He might even set something aside as a bribe, to get that urchin girl out of her cage. The little man reaches to return the strongbox to his satchel, but pauses. His lips press together in a pensive line.
Trusova knew he was trying to get rid of her. She said as much. And yet she'd gone all the same. She told him he was untrustworthy, and then chose to trust him. For some damn fool reason.
Very slowly-- with no one there to see-- Banio Phelbt starts to smile.
Rather than collecting his loot, the man cracks open the strongbox. Within, on a bed of cobalt blue velvet, lies an amulet of three stones depending from a silver chain: amethyst, diamond, sapphire. As expensive as the decoration surely is, Banio can't help wrinkling his nose a bit. This is what called them across the Vessen and into the ruins of the elvish city? This is what Lambert Ninefingers died for? This--
Gradually it dawns on Banio that the stones are not so much hanging from the chain as floating beneath it. They form a sort of flower without solder or wire, fixed in empty space relative to one another.
It also dawns on him that Angelica has been gone too long.
Phelbt stumbles to the window, scattering flies, and presses his nose against it. There she is down the street, glass-warped, and she isn't alone. She's standing in conversation with several well-dressed, dark-complected men.
Swearing, Banio slams the box shut. He shuffles his valuables together, then hops and struggles into his clothes. There's still just enough time to get out before the Hissainians see him. Where is that cursed Trusova when he needs her?
Last edited May 12, 2023 4:07 am
