The Inn Ch 04

The story so far: Simon Kettridge has somehow been transported to the setting of his numerous fantasy novels, the Phaeland Empire. Unfortunately, the first thing he does is have sex with his greatest heroine, Juliette Ravendark – delaying her from a critical rendezvous and setting in motion events that will lead to the Empire's utter devastation at the hands of Necromanata, a cadaverous sorcerer bent on ravaging the world with an army of undead and orcs. Left on his own in a country inn with virtually no resources, Simon decides that his only hope of saving Phaeland is to craft a series of letters using his knowledge of the world to influence key players and personages who might be able to help. But letters are a costly luxury in this medieval world, and Simon must use any means possible to find a way to pay for them. After an innocent misunderstanding, the inn's serving girl (and part-time prostitute) recommends to an exotic female guest that Simon could be engaged as a gigolo. Unable to turn down the money (or the incredibly hot "welf" woman), Simon performs his first night of sex work in the Phaeland Empire. Then, as luck would have it, she reveals her destination to him and opens up a perfect opportunity for him to send a message along with her.

* * *

Between servicing Kizaah one last time and writing out my letter to the priestess of the First Temple of Scale, I arrived downstairs for breakfast later than usual. My employer of the previous evening gave me a kiss on the cheek with her deep red welfish lips and then headed out the door toward a carriage, pausing once more at the exit to wave at me with the envelope I'd given her.

As I settled into a chair at a corner table, a cheerful voice asked, "Your friend's not joining you for breakfast?"

"Apparently, she's got an urgent engagement in Nanwael," I said, smiling up at the pretty, blue-eyed face of the inn's serving girl, Leyna. She wore a sunny yellow dress today, the bodice a chocolate-milk brown. "Oh, and before I forget ..."

I dug in my pocket for some coins – six copper pence – and held them out in my palm. "I think I more than owe you this for your referral and advice."

She laughed and scooped the money from my hand. "Not that you seem to have needed much advice, Mister Half-a-shilling!"

My face colored at that, but I didn't let it distract me. "But I really did, Leyna. I'm from a place where ... things are done differently. If you hadn't encouraged me, I could never have taken Kizaah up on her offer. Or at the very least, I'd have been awkward or nervous and maybe made a mess of it."

Her eyebrows gave a naughty bounce. "We'll see whether you made a mess once the breakfast hour's done and I get to my sheet-changing duties. I'm a bit hoping you did."

That really put the heat in my cheeks – but it also made something burn deeper in my chest, a mix of thrill and ... pride? This beautiful, vivacious young woman knew what I'd done last night, knew who I'd done it with, and would soon be stripping the sordid results from the mattress in Kizaah's room. But instead of being jealous or disgusted, Leyna was happy for me, and delighted both in the part she had played facilitating things and in the part she would soon play tidying up.

We shared something now, and she liked that. I liked it too.

"Anyway," she said, "I'll bring by some porridge in a tad and maybe we can trade notes later." I nodded, and she jingled the coins in her hand. "Thanks for these!"

"You're very welcome. Thank you too. I'm in your debt."

"Hmm." She turned away with a sly glance over her shoulder. "I'll have to think on how to collect, then!"

Watching her hips sway as she walked off, innocently feminine, I wondered how exactly I could be living in the magical fantasy land of my novels, using a fountain pen to wage a life-and-death struggle with a cadaver-obsessed arch-mage, and having sex with not-quite-human, prehensile-clitoris women, and yet the most amazing thing out of all of it was this pleasant young woman who'd convinced me to prostitute myself.

Maybe you're just focusing on her so you won't have to think about legions of walking corpses, or about what Mom would say if she ever learned how easily you jumped into sex-work when given the chance. I shook my head. Or maybe I'm focusing on Leyna because she gives me a giant, concrete reason to figure this Necromanata thing out and stop the orcs and undead from destroying all of Phaeland.

And I was going to do it. I would figure out a way.

After breakfast.

* * *

Back in my room, feeling warm from a full bowl of porridge and the smile Leyna gave me when she brought it out, I settled down at my desk with paper and Lord Weltfordshire's heirloom fountain pen.

I'd sent out three letters so far: one to Lord Phurl, one to Kleburn Mandermorte, and this morning's, to the high priestess of the viper-folk in Ssss'ssla. "Philandering Phurl," as some called him, would read the first letter and quickly put the requested money into Kleburn Mandermorte's blind bank account. I hadn't asked for a lot, and I'd been very specific about my deadline and about the names of Phurl's mistresses, so I could count on the nobleman's fear of his wife to motivate him. He'd pay up first and ask questions later. So in two weeks, Kleburn would have both a financial incentive and the right set of instructions to go to Cymbelville and retrieve Vark's Sword from its decades-old hiding place. Meanwhile Kizaah had left for the Swamps of Dor, traveling from Nanwael to Ssss'ssla by colossus-hawk gondola. My letter to the priestess ought to beat the other two to its destination handily, and if I'd been convincing, the viper-folk would order a representative to the Phaeland capital straightaway.

With the resources of the First Temple at her disposal, the priestess could easily send her envoy to Phaeratos in a matter of days rather than weeks. But I needed Kleburn to have time to retrieve the Sword, return from Cymbelville, and also make a trip to Thankorta to trade the enchanted blade for the Heart of Asp ruby. Otherwise, the serpentine envoys would arrive in Phaeratos and find nothing there that they wanted to trade for. So my letter to Ssss'ssla had specified a date four weeks out for the viper-folk to expect the ruby in Phaeratos.

And this was where the timing got tricky. Assuming all went well with the mails, Kleburn would be off to Cymbelville before I could get another message to him. So he'd have a week or less to get to Thankorta and back after he'd fetched Vark's Sword. And Thankorta lay hundreds of miles from Phaeratos, which meant Kleburn would need magical transportation – which meant lots of money. A second letter of blackmail to Lord Phurl would be chancy at best. A sensible extortionist doesn't ask for two payouts within a week of each other – even a wealthy victim like Lord Phurl would balk if he came to expect an endless stream of financial demands.

So how could I pay for Kleburn to fly or planes-skip to Thankorta immediately on his return from Cymbelville?

Maybe if I could line up a few hundred wealthy welf-women like Kizaah and fuck them until my balls imploded ...

Writing all of this out, along with sketching a rough map to figure out distances and travel times, used up most of a sheet of paper and maybe half an hour's time. And before all this brain-work let me come up with any answers, a knock sounded at my door.

"Yes?"

"Hi, it's me ... have you a bit to chat now?"

Leyna!

In my enthusiasm to get to the door, I almost knocked my chair over. Then, just shy of drawing the bolt, I glanced back at the desk in alarm – if she came in and happened to see my notes ...

She'll what, dummy? They're in English, and for all you know, she's not even literate in the Phaeland alphabet. No, wait, she did say she planned to write letters once she – oh, for fuck's sake, just answer the door!

I pulled the door open to find her smiling at me.

"I was beginning to think you'd fallen back asleep from welf-pleasured weariness!"

"No, sorry," I said, glancing the desk. "I was caught up in some thinking."

She laughed. "You do a lot of that, don't you? Can I come in half an instant while Burgham's not stirring up a potful of chores for me to do?"

"Sure, of course." I stepped back to let her in, her daffodil-gold dress brightening the room as she moved in and sat on the bed.

"Oh, don't close that," she said when she saw me push at the door. "We'll want to be sure we can hear if Burgham takes a mind to come upstairs, so I can pretend I'm swapping out your sheets again instead of making idle chit-chat."

"Right." Leaving the door half-open, I returned to my chair and swiveled it to face the bed. "So ... what are we chit-chatting about?"

"How it was, of course!"

Her blue eyes, full of expectation, made it very clear what "it" was.

"Oh ... ah, very good, actually." I paused, without really knowing why. Then I realized it was because I assumed the subject would embarrass me, and was surprised when it didn't. So I went on, "Welf-women have this ... thing ..." and followed that with a brief description of Kizaah's genital curl and some of the ways she put it to use. An enthusiastic widening of the blonde girl's eyes kept me from blushing too much or feeling too awkward, and not too long into the story, I found myself swept up in the sense of intimacy it gave me to be relating these things to her.

"

Goodness

," she interrupted me shortly, fanning herself with one hand. "I'll have to stop you there, Simon, or else I'll be running straight to my room to diddle myself next. But what I really meant was, how

was

it?" Her enthusiasm took on a hesitant shading. "I mean, I didn't convince you into something you're going to regret, or feel wrong about, did I?"

"To be honest," I said, "the whole thing was so wild I barely had time to think about it. Other than some nerves knocking at the door, I guess my brain was just in sex mode the whole night. It was all about how she looked and tasted and smelled and felt – and how I made her feel. She was really ... appreciative."

"Oh, I'm so glad," Leyna said. I could see something relax in her. "You don't know how worried I was that you'd think it sullied you. I know it's not for everybody, and I wasn't always sure myself, when I turned eighteen and decided to take it up. But ... well, I'm just glad you're okay with it."

I looked at her blue eyes, sparkling in their own way despite their lack of welfish glitter-motes, and something hit me without my even thinking about it.

"You haven't had anybody you could talk to about what you do, have you? Not in a long time anyway, I'm guessing."

Her mouth compressed, ever so faintly. Taken off-guard that I'd seen through her? Then she nodded. "I don't know how many men I've bedded the last three years. And they've almost all of them been enjoyable, but it's not what my mother planned for me, to be sure. Oh! But please don't think I pushed you into it just so that I'd have someone to –"

I leaned forward to touch her hand where it rested on one knee. "Leyna, I don't think I could suspect you of doing anything the least bit selfish, ever."

Blushing, she wriggled slightly and made as if to stand up, so I removed my hand. "It's nice you say that," she said, rising from the bed, "but I

am

selfish. I hoped it would be good for you, and I knew you needed the money, and those were the main reasons I didn't rush right over and tell the welf lady my mistake when I realized I'd sent her to you on a bad assumption. But it was selfishness that I presumed your bed talents were for hire in the first place. I could have asked you and made sure, but I didn't. I was just so eager to have met someone else who did it that I thought ..."

I stood up too and stepped in to give her forehead a kiss. "Well, you hadn't met someone like that when you made the assumption, but I guess you have now. And assuming I stick with it, I'll be more than happy to talk about it whenever you like."

Leyna smiled and nodded. "All right. And ... should I keep an ear out for more customers to point your way? You don't have to give me a finder's fee every time – I only took this one because you offered and seemed so happy to give it."

"Believe me," I said, "if they're all welfs like Kizaah, you'll deserve every penny every time. She was incredible. And half a shilling? I certainly didn't feel like I earned all of that. But if I end up with an ugly trader woman, I won't force you to take a cut."

"Deal!" she said, beaming. "Now I'd best get back downstairs before Burgham wonders what I'm lollygagging around at ..."

* * *

Instead of returning to my notes, I went downstairs after Leyna and took a walk around town to see if a little air would do anything for my thought processes. Despite having hit mid-morning, the temperature didn't much cooperate with me – I kept my hands in my pockets and my arms squeezed tight to my sides the whole time, wishing I had more than my thin dress shirt to keep out the chill. The sky overhead hung grey and flat, and the packed earth of the road remained slick and sticky from the earlier fogs.

Piperville hadn't much to keep a sightseer busy with. The general store stood across from the inn, a couple of rustic artisans' shops on either side. Farther down the town's one street, a smithy belched out smoke from its chimney and fended off the rural peace with a steady, muffled clanging from within. An alchemist and a tailor had shingles out advertising their services. Beyond that, the place was just a few modest residences and a cluster of flat-bed wagons where some farmers appeared to be trading.

I went maybe an eighth of a mile beyond the edge of town and saw only more road and simple agrarian countryside ahead. By then I'd gotten cold enough to turn around and head back.

Maybe I should stop at the tailor and see if they've got a jacket in my size.

But the thought didn't stick – after mailing my letters and giving Leyna her finder's fee, I had a little less than a shilling to my name. Thirty-four pence, to be exact. I could expect to earn another shilling or so scribing for Galufrand next week, but by then I'd be due to pay my own room and board, which would eat that money up. So barring any further welfish spendthrifts like Kizaah, I might very well have just thirty-four pence and two weeks to stop Necromanata's plans to overrun all of Phaeland.

Three more letters to the capital will put me down to four pence,

I thought.

How do I pay for Kleburn's trip to Thankorta with just three letters?

I tried to ignore the fact that the four leftover pence would be enough to get me a "tumble" with Leyna, as long as I didn't ask her to unlace her top.

Nearing the Nestled Goose again, now on the edge of shivering with cold, I saw a creature tied up to the post outside the inn that made me veer carefully around it instead of making a direct approach to the front door.

That's a gatorcat,

I thought. The actual word for the thing was

hulgriff,

and in truth it didn't look that much like either an alligator or a cat. But it had sharp ears and a long, wide snout full of sharp teeth, and between its low build and striped brown-and-orange fur, you could see why people called them gatorcats.

And this one had a saddle on it.

Maybe an outcast goblin's in town? Is there anything about a goblin I could use to get at Necromanata?

Nothing of that sort occurred to me – but what did pop into my head was,

Oh, god, please don't let it be a female goblin who's already had a talk with Leyna and is waiting to pay me for sex.

I'd been pretty damn unfair to goblins in describing them for this world – scrawny, misshapen, usually bearing unsightly warts, and absolute foes of any kind of bathing.

Surely Leyna wouldn't pimp me to a goblin without asking me ahead of time ...

Inside the common room, I saw the first few harbingers of the lunch crowd – Galufrand at his normal corner table, a couple of farmers at the bar who looked familiar enough I must have seen them the day before, and the town cooper, who was apparently proud enough of the kegs and barrels he made that he liked to spend as much time emptying them as possible.

And in addition to these regulars, a short, broad-framed figure stood talking to Leyna not far from the bar. The blonde girl accepted some coins from the newcomer and handed over a key.

A dwarf?

No. As the squat figure turned to head for the stairs, I saw a long-ish nose that might have been a dwarf's, and a blocky jaw that might have been a dwarf's – but the blue-green complexion and the slitted yellow eyes and the protruding half-inch tusks belonged to something else.

And of course, she was a she, and she saw me staring, and she gave me a glare before heading up to the second floor.

When I turned away from that ferocious look, I saw Galufrand waving me over from his seat. I went quickly to join him, not looking back because I didn't want the non-human woman to catch me staring again.

"Morning, Galufrand," I said politely as I got to his table. I didn't see any papers there, and he'd told me it would be several days before his next essay was done, but with no other clue as to why he'd call me over, I asked, "Do you have something else for me to scribe already?"

"No, no," he said, indicating the chair across from him. "Sit and have lunch with me, why don't you?" Then his gaze jotted toward the staircase. "You saw her, right? Could be a real stroke of luck for you, I'd say."

I didn't want to assume that everyone in the inn knew I'd banged Kizaah for money the night before, and I certainly didn't want to assume that Galufrand expected me to be interested in a dwarf-orc half-breed as a potential bed customer. So I sat down and tried to use a noncommittal tone to ask, "I did see her, but what's the stroke of luck?"

"That she's an orf, of course! And I gather, headed north on a hulgriff."

"Okay, but –"

Before I could ask what difference that made, Leyna came up and set a plate of sautéed mushrooms and potatoes in front of the scholar.

"Here you are, sir," she told him, and without taking a breath, turned to me and said, "Did you see her, Simon?"

By this point, I couldn't help scowling. "Yes, an orf. And she's got a hulgriff, and –"

"A what?"

"A gatorcat," I explained. "But why are you both so interested in me noticing her?"

"Well, those letters of yours to the undertowns, of course!"

The surprise on her face made me feel even more obtuse. So the woman was half dwarvish, and was headed in the general direction of the undertowns, where I'd wanted a couple of letters delivered. I didn't see the use of the coincidence.

"You'll have to explain it to me as if I'm a dolt, apparently."

Galufrand seemed to accept that as his area of expertise. "Lad, she's an orf on a gatorcat. Even riding high in the saddle, she won't top four feet, and the strangler trees can't reach lower than five or six."

Finally, the clouds opened up and let the light through. Post-corporal Mestzel had told me the letters to the undertowns would take almost two months to arrive, which meant they weren't worth sending. But the reason for that inordinate delivery time lay in the Noose Woods, where the trees had animate vines they used to snare passersby with when in season. A human messenger on a horse would have to go the long way around, tripling the distance.

But if this orf were headed the right direction, she could ride right under the dangling nooses and get to the dwarfhills in three weeks or less.

"Okay," I said, trying not to let enthusiasm run away with me. "But just because she's part dwarf doesn't mean she's headed for the undertowns."