The Devil's Concubine (The Devil of Ponong series #1) (4 page)

In Thampur’s capital
Surrayya or one of the other glittering cities on the continent, the Red
Happiness would have been considered vulgar. The red velvet wallpaper curled
from the humidity and the brass fixtures around the room featured illustrations
from the ancient
Book of Carnal Bliss
.
Blue light jellychandeliers and wall sconces bathed the bar in stark light. It
was an outrageous, almost obscene luxury, but QuiTai considered it part of the
cost of doing business with the clientele the brothel attracted.

The brothel was too
empty for her taste, even if every room upstairs was in use. Most of the
crushed velvet divans lining the public room’s walls were unoccupied. Kyam and
two other men were the only customers at the tables. The barkeep at the far end
of the room ran a cloth over the bar in a pretense of work. It would rain
almost every day for the next four months, but at the beginning of monsoon
season, Thampurians tended to stay at home when the clouds gathered. The
typhoon that had just passed probably had something to do with the lack of
business too. Until she knew what Kyam wanted, she wasn’t sure if she was glad
or not it was a slow night.

Belts slowly churned
ceiling fans over head. Lizards skittered down the walls. Two redheaded
Ingosolians giggled before kissing, to the delight of the chubby Thampurian who
sat between them on a divan. And Madame Jezereet perched on the banister of the
staircase that led to the upstairs rooms. She wore a brown and tan striped
waist cincher over a deep purple dress that fell in ruffled layers to the floor,
and paprika curls piled high on her head that fell in ringlets to her creamy
décolletage. Her skin was pale as the daytime moon. Such coloring was common
for the Ingosolians, but her pallor was as unnatural as her bright garnet lips.
Her once famously curvaceous figure had shrunk so that every rib in her sternum
stuck out. Two years ago, every customer from the continent recognized her from
her days on the stage. Nowadays, no one did.

As QuiTai watched,
Jezereet slowly raked her fingernails from her wrist to her elbow, leaving long
angry welts.

She roused
as she saw QuiTai.

QuiTai
quickly shook her head and motioned for Jezereet to be patient. She pointedly
turned away, but not before catching Jezereet’s furious stagger up the stairs.

A rangy,
white-blond customer sat at one of the small tables in the center of the room,
ignoring the woman who tried to talk him into buying her a drink. At first
glance, QuiTai thought his frock coat had a raised collar, but when she drew
closer, she saw the blue veins that branched between the knobby bones that
supported the frill. Until she saw a dewclaw on his toe she couldn’t be sure
that he was a Ravidian, but she didn’t know of another race with a neck frill
like that.

The
expatriate at the next table could have been the Ravidian’s twin. He daubed his
sunburned forehead with a folded handkerchief. An ugly red scar ran between two
fingers, across the back of his hand, and disappeared under the lace cuff at
his wrist. When he saw her looking at it, he hid his hand under the table.

These two
weren’t familiar to her: In a small town like Levapur, that was unusual. It
seemed odd that they’d choose to come to Ponong now, since it meant crossing
the Te’Am Ocean during typhoon season. Besides, the history of the continent
was written in Thampurian and Ravidian blood. Why would Ravidians come so far
from home to a small island controlled by their enemies, unless they were the
Ravidian smugglers PhaNyan had promised to deliver to her?

After
admonishing herself for jumping to conclusions, QuiTai reminded herself of the
task at hand. The smugglers could wait until after her business in the Red
Happiness was complete.

Kyam
glowered as she threaded her way between the tightly packed tables toward him.
He’d missed a spot on his cheek whenever he had last shaved, and his straight
black hair was sorely in need of a cut. The tropical sun had turned his skin a
healthy golden brown and etched a few lines around his dark eyes. His only
defect was the impatience that set his face into a permanent scowl. Tonight,
she could match his mood and then some.

His easel
sat before him and he held a brush, but QuiTai had observed him long enough
from across the road to know that he had yet to apply the orange paint to his
canvas. That was in keeping with his cover as a dilettante artist and wastrel
son. In the year that he’d lived on the island, she’d never seen his façade
drop. Her admiration for him was grudging, though. After all, she’d played her
part for far longer. Only his bitterness seemed real to her, although she
couldn’t imagine what he had to be angry about.

His
sleeves were pushed back to reveal powerful forearms and his open collar showed
more of his broad chest than was proper. When she reached his table, he dropped
his paintbrush into a glass filled with murky liquid. “What’s with the fancy dress?”

She
flicked a raindrop from her soft velvet sleeve. What a delight that her pains
to dress for this meeting hadn’t been in vain. It was as if some cruel god had
plucked her from an afternoon stroll in Thampur’s lush Suvat Park and dropped
her in a sweatbox. She hoped it reminded Kyam of his home: she took such
pleasure in poking the snarling Thampurian in his tender spots.

“I’m
surprised you haven’t noticed. I always dress like a Thampurian when we conduct
business, Mister Zul.”

“Business!”

His
grudging laugh hinted at mockery, but his gaze slid to the Ravidian nearest
him. She knew it was a signal to her to make any watchers believe that the
animosity between them had not changed. That was easy enough. It hadn’t, except
that he wanted very much to speak with her. There were plenty of dark alleyways
in Levapur where they could have conducted any business he had in mind, so he
must want witnesses. That was enough to pique her curiosity.

“I don’t
like it any more than you do, sea dragon,” she said.

He picked
up a bottle of rum, but paused before taking a swallow. “The Devil has enough
thugs to commit his crimes, and he has you to do his really dirty work, snake. So
what business could your master possibly have with me?”

She’d
called him a sea dragon first, so she supposed he thought it was only fair to
call her a snake, but the terms weren’t equally derogatory. Thampurians bragged
about being sea dragons; the Ponongese didn’t think of themselves as snakes.

QuiTai
turned to the typhoon shutters.
 
Outside,
rain fell in misty swirls that obscured the world beyond the veranda. He wanted
everyone to think she’d sought him out: That didn’t mean she had to make it
easy for him. If he wanted a favor, he’d have to earn it. Then he’d have to
atone for calling her a snake.

Kyam
grunted. The chair scraped across the wood floor as he kicked it toward her.

QuiTai
said, “I see that one can send a scion of the thirteen families to the finest
schools in Thampur, but even they can’t make a gentleman out of him.” She
settled into the seat, put the box she carried at her feet, and hooked her
umbrella’s handle onto the edge of the table.

“If I
wanted to be a gentleman, I would have stayed in Thampur.” Kyam took a long
swig from his bottle.

“I didn’t
think you’d had a choice about leaving.”

Kyam took
long, deep breaths, as if trying to calm himself.
 
He failed. “Whatever business your master has with me, tell
him I’m not interested. Go away!” He pointed to the door.

QuiTai
crooked a finger at Kyam as she leaned across the table. He glared at her but
met her halfway. The Ravidians, she noticed, tried to act as if they alone in
the room weren’t eavesdropping on the conversation, even though QuiTai could
have reached out and touched both of them. She gave him her wickedest smile, as
if she planned to say something that would make even the workers of the Red
Happiness blush; then she whispered, “Now what am I supposed to do?”

“You’re
smart. You’ll think of something,” Kyam said through gritted teeth.

“I may be
smart, but I’m not a nice woman and I grow tired of this game. I could leave.
That’s something.” Her teeth barely nipped his ear.

Kyam
slammed back in his seat as if stung. He slowly lifted his fingers to his
earlobe while watching her.

QuiTai
chuckled quietly. “Come now, Mister Zul. Those weren’t my fangs, only my teeth.
Too many witnesses, and I don’t particularly care to hang.” She rose.

Kyam
gripped her arm. “What do you want, Lady QuiTai?”

Briefly,
she thought about leaving anyway, but curiosity won. “Ah! Excellent! You found
your manners.” She pointedly stared at his hold on her arm until his grip
eased. She sat back down, but didn’t say anything.

Kyam’s
impatient growl only made her smile more. But as fun as it was to irk him, she
decided to play nice – for now. “My master requests a portrait.”

“A
portrait?”

Kyam’s
acting skills impressed her. He sounded genuinely surprised.

“You are
an artist?” Her tone implied doubt as she flicked her hand toward his canvas,
evoking and dismissing it in the same gesture.

“Tell the
Devil that I only paint flowers.”

“Is that
what those lurid whirls are supposed to be?” She held up her hand to stop Kyam’s
outraged comments. “I told him you don’t do portraits, but I’m afraid I was
unable to dissuade him.” She wondered how long she was supposed to continue
this scene, and to what purpose. While it showed that Kyam had some respect for
her intelligence, it was maddening that she didn’t know where the conversation
was supposed to lead.

Kyam
glanced at the Ravidians. He picked up his drink and sent the contents swirling
inside the bottle with a slight flick of his wrist. The sight seemed to
mesmerize him. She stabbed his foot with the pointy tip of her umbrella. He held
back his yelp as he tapped on the table with his forefinger. When she glanced
down, he looked away while turning the paper under his finger. She recognized
the chop of the Dragon Pearl. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to admire
his ingenuity.

QuiTai’s
small velvet purse dropped onto the table between them with a solid thunk. “It’s
a long time between remittance payments, Mister Zul, especially when you have
gambling debts.” She rose. It was time for him to come to the point.

His eyes
widened a bit too much, but it was for the benefit of the audience, not her. “How
the hell did you know about that?”

“I have my
sources.”

“Exactly,”
he muttered.

Her
eyebrow rose. Had he finally mentioned the reason he wanted to speak with her?

He grabbed
her purse and shoved it into his pocket without counting the coins. Then he ran
his fingers through his hair until it was tousled, and grinned as he stretched.
QuiTai could feel the other patrons poised for a demonstration of his cutting
wit.

“I guess
if I can paint a flower, I can paint the Devil’s whore.”

“A whore,
Mister Zul? That’s the best you can do? Not up to your usual level of banter.
Are you feeling unwell? A dose of the cleanse should clear up that little
problem.”

While she
was poised to go, there was a point that had to be made now, before they
pursued whatever it was he wanted from her. QuiTai leaned over him again and
whispered, “This is a game for grownups. If you ever involve a child in your
plots again, you will not live to see the sun set.”

He nodded
slightly.

She picked
up her box and umbrella, even though she still had no idea what Kyam wanted. It
had something to do with her sources, but that was hardly enough for her to go
on. She wasn’t sure what sitting for a portrait entailed, but it seemed to her
that ought to take several sessions, which meant that he expected them to consult
a few times. Interesting.

“I will
call on you tomorrow morning, Mister Zul. Try to be sober by then.”

And now
she had to pay the price for Petrof’s permission to meet Kyam. Normally, she entered
the Red Happiness by climbing a vine in the back alleyway to the second floor
veranda; but Petrof surely had her watched, and she wanted him to know that she’d
obeyed him.

Kyam and
the other patrons watched her with varying degrees of astonishment as she
walked up the brothel’s main staircase to the bedrooms on the second floor.

~ ~ ~

The second floor hallway of the Red Happiness wasn’t as
garish as the first; by the time customers walked up the stairs, the décor no
longer mattered. Doors were clustered in threes down the long, wide hallway.
The two side doors of each cluster led to the bedrooms where the workers plied
their trade: the narrow center door opened to a passageway between the rooms
where patrons could peek through spy holes. Peeping was cheaper, and some patrons
simply preferred watching.

Two men came out of a room, exchanged friendly nods with
QuiTai, and headed downstairs.

QuiTai knocked on the last door to the left.

“I’m not
taking customers tonight,” Jezereet said wearily from within.