Wicked Women Read online

  Wicked Women

  Edited by

  Jan Edwards and Jenny Barber

  www.foxspirit.co.uk

  “Win Some, Lose Some” copyright © Juliet E McKenna 2005. First published in Postscripts #5, PS Publishing. Reprinted by permission of the author

  “The Shabti-Maker” copyright © Christine Morgan 2014

  “Kravolitz” copyright © Tom Johnstone 2014

  “No Place of Honour” copyright © A.R. Aston 2014

  “This Blessed Union” copyright © Adrian Czajkowski 2014

  “The Book of the Gods” copyright ©Sam Stone 2014

  “How to be the Perfect Housewife” copyright © Chloë Yates 2014

  “Red Ribbons” copyright © Stephanie Burgis 2009. First published in Black Static #11, TTA Press. Reprinted by permission of the author

  “A Change in Leadership” copyright © Jonathan Ward 2014

  “Down at the Lake” copyright © Jaine Fenn 2014

  “The First Witch of Damansara” copyright © Zen Cho 2012. First published in Bloody Fabulous, Prime Books. Reprinted by permission of the author

  “A Change of Heart” copyright © Gaie Sebold 2014

  Cover Art by Sarah Anne Langton

  http://www.secretarcticbase.com/

  conversion by handebooks.co.uk

  ISBN: 978-1-909348-69-1

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

  A Fox Spirit Original

  Fox Spirit Books

  www.foxspirit.co.uk

  [email protected]

  Contents

  WIN SOME, LOSE SOME Juliet E. McKenna

  THE SHABTI-MAKER Christine Morgan

  KRAVOLITZ Tom Johnstone

  NO PLACE OF HONOUR A. R. Aston

  THIS BLESSED UNION Adrian Tchaikovsky

  THE BOOK OF THE GODS Sam Stone

  HOW TO BE THE PERFECT HOUSEWIFE Chloë Yates

  RED RIBBONS Stephanie Burgis

  A CHANGE OF LEADERSHIP Jonathan Ward

  DOWN AT THE LAKE Jaine Fenn

  THE FIRST WITCH OF DAMANSARA Zen Cho

  A CHANGE OF HEART Gaie Sebold

  CONTRIBUTORS

  WIN SOME, LOSE SOME

  Juliet E. McKenna

  The Martagon is one of those taverns which, while not a brothel, always has enough lasses idling about in low cut bodices to catch a man’s eye through its hospitably open door. And there are always plenty of men passing the door, given it’s in the middle of a street of rooming houses that cater to country folk on some long anticipated visit to this splendid city of Selerima. Such folk always include plough boys desperate to quench their youthful ardour without the risks of sowing their seed in some local furrow. And then there are the older men whose marriage bed has long since staled. They can often be tempted into a slice from a fresh cut loaf.

  ‘Livak, there’s a man asking for you.’ One of the lasses sauntered over, hips swinging, hem of her pink gown hiked up to show the golden lace on her petticoats and fine white stockings above her soft yellow slippers.

  I swept up the rune bones I’d been casually rolling on the table in front of me. ‘Send him for a walk down the Andelane. He’ll find what he’s looking for there.’

  Even dressed in a man’s breeches and boots with shirt and jerkin loose enough to disguise my curves, getting the occasional offer is one of the prices of setting up in an inn like the Martagon. Some mistake me for a lad in the candlelight, half blinded by guilt or anticipation or both. Others just see my red hair and green eyes and remember all the whispered stable yard tales about the insatiable appetites of Forest women. Such whispers had mortified my respectable housekeeper mother once I’d reached girlhood, just when she’d thought the gossip about her ill-starred dalliance with the Forest minstrel who was my father had finally faded.

  ‘Tell him she’s with me.’ Halice was sitting behind me, apparently asleep in a round backed beech wood chair, long, solidly muscled legs stretched out in front of her. She was booted and breeched like me but where I wore a cheerful blue jerkin and breeches she was wearing muted brown and grey, the better to go unnoticed in the shadows. ‘If that doesn’t put him off, give me a nod. I’ll come and get some more ale and set him straight.’

  There are precious few men who’ll cross Halice. For a start, she’ll look all but the very tallest straight in the eye and can stare down most of those. For any who won’t back down, she carries a sword in those places that permit it and carefully hidden knives for towns and cities where the Watch say otherwise. Add to that a face as plain as an overcast sky and it’s hardly surprising she doesn’t get many importunate offers.

  ‘He’s not looking to ease his urges.’ Tirian shook her head, golden ringlets dancing around her white neck. ‘He says he knows a friend of yours.’

  ‘Does he?’ Halice’s chair scraped on the floor behind me as she sat up straight. ‘Who might that be?’

  Tirian’s brow wrinkled prettily. ‘Lady Alaric? Does that sound right?’

  ‘Who is he? Point him out,’ Halice demanded.

  Tirian obliged and I saw a middle aged man of middling build dressed better than most in this particular taproom. He wore a fine linen shirt with lace at its collar underneath a full-skirted, long-sleeved coat of soft black leather. His breeches were black too; fine broadcloth with silver buckles at the knee, sturdy black cotton stockings below to mask the filth of the streets that nevertheless spattered his square-toed black shoes.

  ‘Merchant’s clerk?’ Halice hazarded.

  ‘No ink stains on his cuffs or wear on his elbows.’ I tossed the yellowed rune bones with their three deeply carved faces from hand to hand. ‘Upper servant, I’d say, in a house where he gets silver and gold slipped in his hand by grateful guests, not just copper.’ I glanced back over my shoulder to Halice. ‘Well?’

  ‘Tell him he can come and drink his ale with us, Tirian’ said Halice cautiously. ‘Bring us another flagon while you’re at it, please?’

  Tirian shrugged and for a moment I thought her dainty pink dress was going to slip right off her shoulders. ‘I’ve nothing else to do, I suppose.’

  Halice took the hint and had a silver mark ready when Tirian returned with the flagon and this mysterious stranger in tow. We could afford to be generous to the lass. We were having a most profitable stay in Selerima.

  ‘May I?’ The stranger gestured towards one of the empty stools around my table.

  I nodded, scanning the tap room as I did so. It was still early enough in the evening for Tirian to have no more than her thumbs to twiddle, so it would be a while before anyone could be tempted into a friendly game of chance with me. A game where they’d put their ill-luck down to distractions like Tirian catching their eye. Most evenings that was even true.

  ‘You reckon we’ve got acquaintance in common?’ I shifted my stool aside a little so Halice could swing her chair around to face this unknown newcomer.

  ‘Indeed. The incomparable Lady Alaric.’ He sat on a stool, knees together, both hands cupping his goblet of wine. Me and Halice might merit a second glance in a place like the Martagon but this chap stuck out like a cut finger needing a bandage.

  ‘You’ve served her on some visit hereabouts?’ I queried. This man was plainly an upper house-servant. I’d seen the type often enough, growing up as bastard daughter to a prosperous merchant’s housekeeper.

  ‘Let me introduce myself.’ The man smiled. He had a thin mouth and circumspect brown eyes beneath black hair showing just a hint of grey and close cropped to disguise its thinning. ‘Arle Cordainer.’ He held out an uncalloused hand bare of rings. I shook it without comment.

  ‘A name that means nothing to me.’ Halice folded her arms, which showed up the muscle
s of her forearms at the same time as emphasising the width of her shoulders. I’d seen wrestlers envy those shoulders.

  ‘I assure you it’s good enough for Lady Alaric.’ Cordainer paused then leaning closer, lowered his voice. ‘And for Mistress Heraciol.’

  ‘And what would those good ladies have to tell us about you?’ Halice’s expression didn’t alter and neither did mine. When you keep yourself fed and shod through gambling, you keep a straight face or go hungry and barefoot. All the same, we were playing a different game if he knew two of our mutual friend’s many faces.

  Cordainer took a moment to sip his wine. ‘Lady Alaric would remember me as house steward to Lord Elwyl, when she found herself benighted on the road between Peorle and Duryea. I was able to be of service when she asked me for a direct route to Trebin that would nevertheless keep off the highroads.’ He took another drink of wine. ‘And to be discreet about her plans.’

  I exchanged a glance with Halice. So our distant friend had spotted this man wasn’t above taking a little gold to help her out, with a little more besides to keep his mouth shut once she’d made her escape with whatever she’d blackmailed or bamboozled out of his employer.

  ‘As for Mistress Heraciol, we’ve been correspondents for a year or so now,’ Cordainer continued blithely.

  Perhaps his finery had been bought with the gold marks she doubtless sent hidden in the seals of her letters, thanking him for snippets of information about the great and the good and the gullible of Selerima, titbits garnered as he waited on table or fetched and carried linen from closet to guest chamber. Who bothers to guard their tongue when a servant is no more to be remarked on than the furnishings? Less so in fact, if some rich merchant or minor noble has some new expensive tapestry brought all the way from Toremal or glittering crystal goblets from the fabled Aldabreshin Archipelago. Mistress Heraciol habitually drank from just such costly glassware in her expensive house in Relshaz, thanks to her talent for turning insubstantial gossip into solid coin.

  ‘So what has she seen fit to tell you about us?’ I wondered aloud.

  ‘And why,’ added Halice, her voice hard.

  Cordainer smiled again and sipped at his goblet. ‘When I wrote to wish her a fortunate Winter Solstice, I asked if she knew anyone who might be travelling this way in the first half of summer. Someone who had certain particular talents and none too many scruples about using them. She mentioned your names.’ He looked Halice straight in the eye. ‘In my youth, I spent some time in the Duke of Marlier’s household. I can quite believe any daughter of Lady Lifinal more than merited your chastisement. I only wish I’d had the spirit to give her ladyship a slap in the face myself.’

  ‘Heraciol told you about that?’ Halice sounded amused but her eyes stayed wary. ‘Well, I’d had about enough of playing watchdog for the duchess anyway. Being turned out to take to the road again was no great hardship.’

  ‘But you didn’t go back to the mercenary life,’ Cordainer remarked with a glance at Halice’s dun coloured hair which she still kept cropped as short as the soldier she had been. ‘You’ve been travelling with your charming companion here.’ He made me a half bow remarkably elegantly for a man sitting on a stool. ‘And I gather you also know all the trials and tribulations of the servant’s life.’

  ‘Enough to know it was never going to be the life for me,’ I answered with a sunny smile. Not that I’d had a notion in my foolish head as to what I might do instead, when I’d fled my mother’s fate. Setting my face against Tirian’s trade, I’d been barely scraping a living playing games of chance in grubby inns when I first encountered Halice working her way from town to town teaching swordplay or challenging the locals to wager their purses on their boasts that they could beat her. Both our fortunes had improved since then, now we had a practised routine for shading the odds in our favour over the course of a game of runes.

  I gestured around the Martagon’s taproom before throwing a spread of bones on the table. ‘This is where we do our business and while it’s pleasant to reminisce about old friends, you’re keeping us from getting a game in play, so unless you’ve something more to say?’ I raised my brows at Cordainer as I leant forward to gather up the runes.

  He sipped at his goblet and set it down, losing his amiable smile as he leant closer once more and lowered his voice to a murmur. ‘I’ve been house steward to Master Barazon since the turn of the year. He’s head of the Tailor’s Guild and the richest liveryman in this city. He has a beautiful young wife whose fondness for him is equalled only by her fondness for jewels – and I’ve noticed if he wants her to open her bed curtains to him, she expects to close her fingers around something more lasting than his manhood.’

  ‘Which may interest Mistress Heraciol,’ said Halice with distaste wrinkling her nose. ‘What’s it to do with us?’

  ‘Master Barazon has decided it’s time he got himself an heir,’ Cordainer replied crisply. ‘And he has some concerns about standing at stud, given he’s wed two wives already and neither had so much as quickened before they quit his house, never mind borne a child. He intends to cover his new filly as often as he can and that has meant dazzling her with something truly spectacular.’ He paused and looked from Halice to me and back again. ‘Something that would fund a nice retirement for me and set you ladies up with fine houses and servants of your own.’ He looked back at me, dark eyes penetrating. ‘I gather your fingers are as nimble with locks as they are with rune bones and with upper story window catches besides.’

  ‘Is that so?’ I said, non committal. ‘But you’ll have keys and permission to be in the house besides. Why should you share the spoils with anyone else?’

  ‘Because I would be the first person Barazon would set the Watch hunting, if I disappeared in the same night as his wife’s newest treasures. I need to be there lamenting with the rest of the household.’ Cordainer spread his hands. ‘And while I know how to turn chance heard words into coin thanks to our friend Mistress Heraciol, I’ve no notion where to sell gems without awkward questions. That’s one of the talents I believe you ladies have?’

  ‘It depends if the gems are worth the trouble,’ said Halice baldly.

  ‘Diamonds.’ Cordainer looked for a response. He just about hid his disappointment at not getting one. ‘Of the first water and set in white gold. A necklace in the eastern Archipelagan style, hanging earrings to match and a crescent of diamonds fit for an empress’s hair. I’ve seen them and believe me, Madam Barazon would lay down, hoist her skirts and let her husband take his pleasure on the steps of the Conclave Tower at noon for their sake.’

  ‘Getting hold of them isn’t half the task,’ Halice pointed out. ‘They’d have to be got well away from here.’

  ‘And still most likely broken up for sale,’ I agreed, with a rueful shake of my head.

  ‘And how do you know we won’t just disappear with them, leaving you looking foolish?’ asked Halice with cold malice.

  ‘And have me write as much to Mistress Heraciol?’ Cordainer leaned back from the table, picking up his goblet for a final swallow. ‘I think we can trust each other to keep honest, given how widely she could spread the word we weren’t to be trusted. Well, I imagined you’d want time to consider such a proposal. Perhaps we can share a drink and discuss it further later this evening?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Halice inclined her head as Cordainer stood up.

  We watched him walk over to the counter, confident without being confrontational as he asked a trio of men in country jerkins to let him by. He set down his goblet and turned to smile at one of Tirian’s fellow flowers in a flame coloured gown. Discreet silver changed hands and he left with the lass on his arm. As soon as his back was turned, Tirian swept up the goblet and drained it.

  ‘Giving Mynna a quick joggle gives him a reason to be here,’ I remarked to Halice. ‘Just in case anyone’s got their eye on him.’

  ‘If we get a hint that anyone has, we don’t touch this,’ she warned.

  ‘You think we
should touch this in any case?’ I looked at her, my surprise coloured with exasperation. ‘Care to explain why?’

  ‘He’s obviously a friend of Charoleia’s.’ Halice studied one broad blunt fingered hand.

  ‘Who doesn’t know her by that name,’ I pointed out with some asperity. ‘I wouldn’t call him much more than an acquaintance, if the only two faces he knows are Lady Alaric and Mistress Heraciol.’

  ‘He’s done her enough good turns for her to pass on our names when he went asking for help with this,’ Halice countered. ‘And if we do him a good turn, you know that’ll be credit in our ledger with Charoleia.’

  Which was always worth having. Among other things, Charoleia, who had more guises than a troupe of travelling players, generally knew which noble and wealthy sons had an exaggerated and consequently expensive belief in their own abilities at the gambling tables. It was remarkable how often they would fall into a friendly game of runes with a harmless red-headed lass who just happened to be stopping at the same respectable inn on some byway. And if they took exception to their losses or felt inclined to try snatching their coin back, that’s when they would discover I was travelling with that uncommonly tall, plain-faced and far from harmless woman who’d taken a seat at the gaming table once the runes were well in play.

  I shrugged and snapped my fingers to attract Tirian’s attention. She came over, eyebrows raised. ‘I’m not your personal pot girl.’

  ‘The old crow who just left with Mynna,’ I jerked my head toward the door and then gestured towards the counter. ‘How much wine was left in his goblet to quench your thirst?’

  ‘More than half.’ Tirian was puzzled. ‘I don’t know why he should be so fussy. That’s a good vintage. Menk knows better than to serve bitter lees to someone dressed like that.’