The Girl in the Brothel

Waves lapped gently against the shore, bringing with them a coarse salty wind that whipped across the tree tops above Ardon's head. It was midnight, and he was deep in the forest north of the capital, at the mouth of the Hessapac River where it met the sea. The kingdom was built on hard clay soil, but the banks of the Hessapac were a rich brown silt that smelled of the ocean. Fisherman plied the waters here during the day harvesting oysters and clams, and setting out traps for crabs and nets for fish. Now it was empty and quiet. It was colder up here, especially in the dead of night, and he had left his gloves at home.

Their rendezvous point had been carefully chosen, hidden from the main waterway in an area of wood that was far from the city docks and uninhabited by people. It had served them well for the past several months and Ardon hoped it would continue to do so.

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his wool coat, angling his body away from the sea and the stiff wind coming off it. Several yards down and upwind were his companions for the evening, two spotters on each side who would watch for unexpected visitors. It had been two hours, and still there was no sign of the boat. But that was not unusual. Smuggling was both an exact and an imprecise art. One could never be too careful. He had waited much longer for other cargo before, and in harsher conditions. Besides which, it gave him time to rue over the events of the past day.

"Coffee?" a squeaky voice at his elbow inquired. He look down to see his friend and fellow smuggler, Collin Hargreaves, kneeling beside him.

Ardon made a noise of delight and took the proffered tin cup with numb fingers as the man sat, doffing a cap over his curly red hair.

"Didn't think you'd be back from the marshes so soon," the smaller man said. "I take it you found the girl?"

Ardon was too busy downing the contents of his cup. He came up for air, nodding in the dark, though he knew Collin could not see the motion. "Yes," he said, being careful to keep his voice low.

"How'd you find her?" Collin inquired curiously. "Was she in a bad way?"

"She was in a whorehouse in Grogom," Ardon said. He couldn't keep the wry tone out of his voice. It had taken him nearly a year, hopping from town to town with hiatuses in between to take care of urgent business. The girl had been slippery, all right. It was a miracle he'd even stumbled across her at

The Rosey Bush

, because he certainly hadn't been looking for her there.

"Oh, I know the one!" Collin said brightly, a bit too loudly. Ardon elbowed him in the ribs. The man stilled, but couldn't contain his excitement. "The one with the red sign on the side, and rosebushes all 'round it, yeah? There's a woman in there who kissed my boots off, she did. Mattie."

"That sounds familiar," Ardon conceded reluctantly. He might have even seen Mattie there on one of the nights he patronized the establishment. He didn't think he had bedded her, though. Collin's women were a bit too waifish for his tastes. Ardon himself had bedded many a waifish woman, but it was not a trait he found appealing, and he certainly didn't fall back on it as a stipulation as some men did, especially since he knew the things women did to themselves in the name of beauty. It was a shame, really, the standards society placed on them.

"How'd you find her there, of all places?" his friend asked.

"I didn't even realize it was her when we first met," Ardon admitted.

Collin guffawed. "What do you mean you didn't know it was her?"

"I wasn't looking for her, then." Ardon knocked back what was left in his cup. "Mind giving me another round?" Collin obliged, pouring the steaming liquid into the tin, counting the seconds and stopping before it overflowed past the lip. "I was on my way to Hildenbroke following a lead. On my way there I came across upon a chandler in Whitesop who had employed a girl matching her description. Said she'd run away about one week prior, which lined up with when I first ran into her at the brothel. I was an idiot for not realizing it that first night. She didn't act like a ruffian."

"Well that's a fine surprise," Collin said slyly. "Was she a favorite of yours at the

Bush

?"

Ardon nearly spit out his coffee. "Collin, you're a fool. The girl is as innocent as a baby lamb. She was a maid. The master had her working as payment for stealing food from his kitchen."

When he had caught her pilfering Hermu's dinner that first night, he had been sure she would freeze up like a frightened rabbit the instant he laid a hand on her. But instead she had charged right into him. He hadn't expected that, and he most certainly hadn't expected to lose his balance and fall, taking her with him. He still remembered the way his hands had settled over her full hips like they were meant to fit there.

Under her frumpy service dress, stained with mud and dirt, were firm thighs and pert, round breasts. Oh, how his cock had stiffened upon feeling her wriggling on top of him! It had taken enormous effort not to press her closer to his body, to feel her feminine shape crushed against his chest. And when he had brought his knee up between her legs? He had delighted at her surprised intake of breath. She was incredibly responsive, which he liked in his women. Responsive, but utterly ignorant about the intimacies between men and women.

"I bet she learned something, though!" Collin was insisting. "There isn't anything you

can't

learn in those places. Why, I bet she snuck a look or two herself. Living in a place like that, a person's bound to get curious."

"I wouldn't put it past her." Ardon twirled the empty tin in his hands, staring across the water. "She asks too many questions for my liking, but perhaps the ladies there obliged her. Although, she is generally distrustful. We spent far too long arguing when we met," he confided to his friend. "I also think she might be a bit touched. There were moments when she seemed to not be paying attention. Like those patients at the hospital, the ones who spend hours looking at the wall? She did that quite a few times during our conversation, staring at a pitcher of water by her bed."

"Maybe she was thirsty," Collin suggested. "Or maybe she wanted to lob it at your head. Knock you out and steal your Egs."

"I wasn't carrying enough worth stealing," Ardon said, mildly miffed. "And she was a horrible seductress." The girl couldn't charm her way past a drunken night watchman, though she did have a striking kind of beauty he hadn't seen before. He had noticed it right away that first night, even as starved as she had been. The two weeks working for Hermu had done her good. She had rounded out considerably when he returned two weeks later to fetch her. He remembered how her cheeks had flushed a lovely pink when she thought he was going to kiss her. Damn, his trousers were too tight again. But he was no longer cold, which amounted to something.

An owl hooted upriver. Collin and Ardon straightened, staring out at the inky black water. Around the bend in the river, a dark shape moved slowly alongside the bank. Ardon and Collin remained silent, waiting. When the small boat had gotten close enough, Ardon let out a low whistle, two staccato beats followed by a half-beat. It was repeated back to him backwards.

The men picked their way into the water to pull the boat to shore, working swiftly. Caspar was working the boat with Meredith. Ardon could pick out the heavy-set man from his partner, whose figure was hidden under a heavy jacket and hat. He had worked several jobs with the pair of them, both legal and illegal, and found them to be efficient, if not brusque. But that was typical of Creusen business folk. Their kingdom had undergone a coup several years back, and it was still quite dangerous to travel abroad as they were doing. Their borders were patrolled heavily, and they risked capture each time they worked a job.

A rope was used to anchor the vessel to the treeline, and then the smugglers went to work. There were about a half dozen wooden crates covered with a dark tarp. It took two men to carry one and load it onto the automaton crouched in the brush cover. The job was completed in about fifteen minutes total. Ardon and Collin quickly shook hands with Casper and Meredith, and helped them shove their boat back into the water. The spotters up the bank hooted an affirmation when they had safely exited the inlet.

Ardon covered the boat tracks with brush while Collin started up the automaton. It rose onto its legs, silent as a wraith, and followed Collin through the woods. The machine walked on four legs like a horse, but was different in several ways. For one, it was made of steel and aluminum. It bore no head, but was low and broad-backed, the better to carry supplies. Each of its jointed aluminum limbs ended in a rubber foot. While a horse could carry no more than twenty percent of its body weight, the automaton could carry two hundred percent of the animal's weight in cargo. That was over two tons. Fully standing, it reached up to Ardon's waist.

Collin walked ahead, leading the machine with a fob in his pocket. It would follow whomever held the fob, cleverly picking its way over rocks, fallen logs, even fording streams and rivers if the need arose. Ardon watched it, still fascinated at how the thing was able to navigate through the terrain.

The Guard would love to get their hands on this,

he thought.

Good luck with that.

Lidelle Shipping Co. was well-entrenched in the black market within Eganick Kingdom. Well, its smuggling arm was, anyway. The woman who had built this...well, let's say she was not easy to get in contact with. This pack-mule was well worth its weight in gold, and Lidelle had three of them.

The moon was a waning gibbous in the night sky as they walked. Collin halted ahead of him, listening. The automaton froze mid-step. Suddenly, the woods to their right exploded into motion.

Three figures burst out of the copse. There was the sound of gunfire. Ardon threw himself to the ground, silently cursing. His spotters had failed to signal, or the attackers had been lying in wait for hours. He could hear Collin shouting to his left, and dearly hoped his friend was holding his own, because he sure wasn't. A sharp blow landed on the back of his head. There was brief pause. He wasn't taking any chances. He rolled before the gun went off and blindly reached for his assailants ankles, grabbing and yanking.

The two men rolled, Ardon desperately going after the gun hand. The man was smaller than him but possessed a wiry strength, and long arms. Ardon was clocked on the side of his head. The blow sent him reeling. Gods, he was going to pass out if he got another blow like that. He was gasping for breath, unable to see. He groped inside his pocket for the small cube. The man kicked him in the ribs. Ardon groaned, rolling onto his back. Lying on the ground, he could see the stars shining between the tree tops, and the black silhouette of his would-be murderer.

The man aimed the pistol just as Ardon threw the knockout cube directly into his face. It exploded on contact, filling the air with smoke. The man screamed, falling to the ground. Stumbling to his feet, Ardon took a moment to orient himself. Collin was yelling terribly, so he lurched toward his friend, shouting his name.

Damn it, the gun!

Turning back toward the unconscious man behind him, he grabbed the silver pistol and ran forward.

Collin was locked in a stranglehold now, his feet kicking into the air.

"Don't come any closer," the man holding Collin snarled. "Stay right where you are." He gestured, showing Ardon the Showman he held in his tightly clenched fist.

"What do you want?" Ardon asked, gasping for breath.

"You know exactly what we want," the stranger said. "Oy." He gestured to the third man who was going over the crates. "Whatcha find?"

"I dunno how we're s'posed to make off wi' this," the third man said doubtfully. "It ain't bein' pulled by nothin'. I dunno how it moves." He walked around the automaton, which was frozen on three limbs, the fourth paused in midair. "Wot is this thing?" the man asked them.

Ardon let the question sink in for a moment.

"I said, what the bloody 'ell is this?"

A crack pierced the air and the man crumpled. Miles and Scarlett, the spotters upwind, had fired the shot and were running toward them. Ardon took the opportunity to chuck a second knockout cube in Collin's direction. It hit his friend's chest and exploded. A second later, both men collapsed, unconscious.

Arden ran to Collin, checking his pulse to find him sleeping peacefully. He felt under his jacket for wounds and found none.

"Cargo is good," Miles reported. He picked his way over to Collin to retrieve the fob. With it tucked safely in his coat pocket, he lifted the smaller man onto his broad shoulders and gently laid him on top of the wooden crates. The automaton jerked awake and followed Miles as the man walked toward the road and their waiting wagon.

"Sorry about that," Scarlett said to Ardon from her spot by one of the downed men. "We didn't see them hiding in the brush earlier." She took a syringe from her inner coat pocket and filled it with serum from a bottle in her waistband, watching in the weak moonlight as the dark liquid filled the syringe. "Do you want to use mine?" She held the bottle out him.

"No, I'm fine." Ardon leaned over the man who had attacked him, brushing the hair back from his eyes. A stranger. He deftly tied a strip of cloth tightly above the man's elbow and found a vein, injecting the sleeping man with an overdose of serum from his own bottle.

"How do you think they found out about us?" Ardon asked Scarlett as he capped his needle and removed the tie from around the dead man's arm. He didn't like that they had been ambushed. How long had they known about this meeting point?

"I don't know, Ardon," the woman said heavily. "It smells fishy. I think we'd best make arrangements to move the drop-off point again, just in case."

He didn't answer, his mind instead on the precious cargo they had just received. If it had gotten into the wrong hands...he shuddered to think of it. The buyer for this shipment had been vetted thoroughly by the company, but as he set to work digging a shallow grave with a shovel provided by Henry, one of the spotters downwind, he couldn't help wonder if a mistake might have been made. Or if someone had been bought from inside the company. How else would those men have known to lie in wait here? This rendezvous point was only used twice a month. And it had happened before. Selling to the wrong people, that is.

Ardon shoved the thought out of his mind and focused on turning up the soft dark earth. When the three holes had been dug, they tossed the dead men inside and packed the soil down, covering it with leaves and brush, before exiting the woods toward the waiting wagon.

There couldn't be any survivors. Not in this line of work.