Bad Gods Page 8

  “Laney, no!” I yelled.

  Too late. Something pink and glittering shot from Laney’s hand and hit the nearest Vessel, draping him briefly in a festive glow.

  I heard him gasp, and he staggered back, his hands coming up defensively. I started towards him, terrified that Laney had lost her temper.

  The pink glitter concentrated around the sides of his head. There was a sound like nasty little laughter. The Vessel whimpered.

  His mask began to tilt, like a great bird cocking its head to see better. The whole thing kept rising to reveal a bony, large-nosed young man with a loose wet mouth. He reached up to grab the mask, and stopped, frozen, as his hands encountered something furry.

  He glared at me. I was laughing, mainly with relief.

  “Ass’s ears,” Laney said, helpfully. “In case you were wondering. Ever so traditional.”

  “And apt,” I said. “If you don’t want worse, get out of my jalla. Now.”

  “Replace your mask, Brother,” the other Vessel said. “What you sense is merely external, and of what significance is that? The illusions of a whore-witch have no power over the Purified.” The hollow beak of the mask gave his voice a strange, buzzing resonance, an oddly insectile sound.

  “I said, leave!”

  They ignored me.

  “It seems,” Unusual said, appearing at my elbow, “that they don’t talk to women. Or listen to them.”

  “Then you tell them to bugger off for me, would you?”

  “I really would advise you to leave,” Unusual told them.

  It took the Vessels a moment to decide whether to talk to him – Unusual is very obviously male, but he’s also very obviously... Unusual. He doesn’t wear a lot, and what he does wear has lots of straps and buckles and fits very, very closely.

  Eventually the one without the furry ears stepped forward. “We are not in your property. We are standing outside it, in the public roadway, as anyone might do, and here we will remain.”

  The hells of it was, he was right. I didn’t own the road outside the Lantern. They weren’t actually doing anything illegal, that I could see.

  “Now,” Unusual said, leaning against the doorjamb, languid as a snake in the sun, “exactly how long do you plan to stand there? Until everyone in Scalentine gives up sex?”

  “We remain until those that have been dragged from the Path see the error of their ways and put their feet upon the Road of Purity.”

  “Dragged? Dragged?” I said. “Excuse me, but we don’t drag. Not one person has ever been dragged in here.”

  “Put in drag, maybe,” Essie said, from above. “Only on request, mind.”

  “They have been tempted,” said the Vessel, still pointing his mask at Unusual. “They have been drawn from the Way. Their souls are endangered. It is our mission to draw all into the light of the Purest.”

  “Most of our clients aren’t even your followers. What business is it of yours if they come to us?” I said. “Oh, never mind, I’m talking sense, aren’t I? That doesn’t work when it comes to religion. Don’t worry, just pretend you haven’t heard me, you will anyway.”

  I wanted to hit someone so badly my arm-muscles were twitching. “Bliss, go fetch Flower.”

  We glared at each other while we waited. Well, my lot glared; the Vessels stared archly at the middle distance, as though listening to some sound none of us could hear. Maybe they were.

  Flower ducked through the doorway, saw the Vessels, sighed, and began to undo the strings of his apron.

  The Vessel nearest the door shuffled backwards slightly.

  “Lovely piece of fresh fish, I had on the go,” Flower said. “It’ll be all dried out. Ruined.”

  The Vessel lifted his chin in a ‘preparing to be martyred’ kind of way. I had no intention of giving him the pleasure – unless he pushed it.

  “Flower, stay on the door,” I said. “If either of them tries to get in, I believe we’re within our rights if you punch them into next week. Sav?”

  “Sav.”

  “Laney?”

  “Yes darling?”

  “No more spells unless they try to get in, or hurt anyone.”

  She pouted. “I wouldn’t kill anyone; I can’t, here. Not magically, anyway.”

  “We don’t want a repeat of what happened to that client who tried to hit you.”

  “Oh, him.”

  “Yes, him. The one who, last I heard, still wakes up screaming most nights. Of course, if you’re offered sufficient provocation...”

  “Oh, all right.” She sighed, loosened her gown some more, hitched one hip on the windowsill and started to paint her toenails. I heard a strangled noise from behind one of the masks.

  “Did you deal with the butcher?” Flower said.

  “I found a new one, and yes, Flower, the shop looked clean, and no there were no flies, no vermin at all that I could see. Order will be here tomorrow.”

  I heard running feet and turned to see Previous, looking pink, sword in one hand, jamming her shabby helmet over damp coppery curls with the other. She skidded to a halt. “What’s going on?”

  “The Vessels have decided that since the Laws of Scalentine aren’t inclined to shut us down they’re going to have a go themselves, by hanging around and scaring off our clients.”

  Someone was coming up the street behind Previous, rather more slowly. He was slight and basically human-shaped, with a pearly-blue tinge to his skin, appealingly mouse-like, rounded, crinkly little ears and silvery eyes currently wide with curiosity, taking everything in.

  “Is that...”

  “This is Frithlit,” she said. “Um...”

  “Take him inside, have some food. Sorry, Frithlit.” I smiled at him. “Nice to meet you. Got a bit of a situation here. I’m going to go pay the Temple a little visit.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Previous said.

  “What about your friend?”

  “Don’t worry,” Frithlit said; he had a soft, lilting accent I didn’t recognise. “I don’t make trouble for you, okay? Trouble you got.”

  Taking another woman with me wouldn’t gain me any points with the Vessels, which was fine by me. I wasn’t going there to make them like me. But I didn’t want to haul Previous away from the boyfriend she’d finally decided to let us meet.

  “Previous...”

  “We going then?”

  She had that completely impassive expression that only soldiers seem to perfect; the one that says, yes, I understand perfectly, I will obey your orders to the letter, but they will somehow turn out to have been ordering me to do what I was going to do anyway.

  If I did leave her behind she’d only follow me. And maybe it wouldn’t hurt to take her. Like Laney, I have been known to lose my temper. In a temple full of people with a known capacity to piss me off, that could result in something quite messy. Wouldn’t hurt to have Previous along as a brake.

  As we got closer to our destination on Littleflower Way, I slowed my pace; just as well for Previous, her being shorter in the leg and a bit flushed trying to keep up. I took a good look around. The temple was a handsome enough building, of that creamy gold stone they bring in from somewhere in the Perindi Empire, if a bit square and blocky for my taste. Its outer precinct was all brute lines and grim statues with so many clothes on even the marble looked hot. Presumably this was in case a bit of exposed stone flesh sparked a naughty thought, though of course it would have no effect on those Vessels who’d blinded themselves. Maybe they were worried they might brush up against a marble thigh by accident, or something.

  We went up the wide, shallow steps to the entrance. Heavy bronze doors writhed with carvings of tortured souls, designed to make the supplicant feel desperate for redemption and deeply uncertain about their chances of getting it.

  Nothing here was making me feel any more relaxed.

  There were two guards in black uniforms, not masked. They gave us that down-the-nose look, or tried, but I was taller than either of them before we’d even g
ot to the top step, so that didn’t work.

  “The Purest sees all,” they intoned. “Abase yourself before the gaze of the Purest.”

  “I’m not here to see the Purest.”

  They faltered, glancing at each other, but only for a moment. “Females are not permitted to enter the Temple,” one said, lowering his spear across the door.

  “I’ve no desire to enter, thank you. I want one of your priests to come out and talk to me. Specifically, whoever sent people to hang about outside my place of business and disrupt our trade. That’d be the Red Lantern, on Goldencat Street.”

  “Our priests do not converse with... females,” said the one with the lowered spear and the emphatic, shovel-shaped beard. I’ve no objection to beards as a rule, but I reckon anyone with that much bristling masculinity pasted to their jaw is trying a bit too hard. The other one blinked at the mention of the Red Lantern and dropped his gaze slightly, but didn’t budge.

  “Fine,” I said. “Find someone who does. We’ll wait.” I leaned on the wall, and undid a few buttons. “Warm afternoon,” I said. I heard Previous give a muffled snort.

  “You are wasting your time,” said Beard. I wriggled a bit to get comfortable against the stone. Beard stared straight ahead. The other one, who was young and doe-eyed – too cute for a Vessel, by far – glanced over and swallowed. I smiled at him. He looked away but I could see the deep red flush creeping up his neck.

  “Oh, by the way,” I said to Previous, “I went to the Glory Days and checked out that dancer. The one from Losandas?”

  I’m always on the lookout for a bit of entertainment, to keep the punters amused if they have to wait, and Losandas dancers are notorious.

  “Oh, I’ve heard about her. She does that thing with the oil, the olives and the snake?”

  “Yep,” I said.

  Previous shook her head. “I saw that once. How does someone bend like that?”

  “She does this bit where she goes up to a member of the audience and sort of wraps herself...”

  Telling stories intended to encourage a certain reaction in the audience was part of my training, you might say. Well, it was that or sing, and anyone who’s heard me sing would tell you I’m a fair storyteller. Mind you, anyone who’s heard me sing would probably tell you I’m a fair carpenter.

  Funnily enough, it wasn’t the young guard who broke, it was Beard who started to sweat, his knuckles gradually whitening as he clutched his spear, and tried to ignore what he was hearing. Eventually he retreated with as much dignity as remains to a man apparently trying to conceal a small sailing boat under his uniform.

  I wasn’t sure if he closed the door with unnecessary force, or if it was just designed to give out that long, rolling boom. Might have been quite impressive under other circumstances. I wondered what it was like on the other side when that thing shut behind you. A lot like gaol, I’d imagine.

  “You all right?” Previous muttered. Something must have shown on my face.

  “Fine. I just want to get done and get home.”

  It wasn’t long before a man appeared around the side of the temple, looked us over and gestured us to a small door off the courtyard.

  It opened on one of those bland little rooms where the daily business of temples is done; a place for things like paying one’s bills and dealing quietly with trouble. A window, two chairs, a plain table. Our host wore grey robes instead of the white of the priests, and no mask. He was a type I thought I recognized: the quiet, unassuming, administrative sort. The sort who, behind the bland exterior, is often rabidly ambitious with an agenda all their own. He was narrow-hipped, slight, no more than a boy’s height and as thin as a politician’s promise.

  He gave a bow perfectly judged to be just polite enough, and gestured us to the two hard-backed chairs. Fine by me, he could stand if he thought height gave him an advantage, but he’d be looking down my front, which might give me an edge.

  But he didn’t seem as susceptible as the guard. Barely a glance.

  “I am Administrator Elect Denarven,” he said, his voice as quiet and well-modulated as his gestures. The harsh-soap stink of the temple (no dangerously sensuous incense for the Vessels) seemed to concentrate around him. His fingernails were extraordinarily clean; his hands were reddish, water-scoured, like a washerwoman’s. Perhaps they scrubbed the temple floors as some kind of penance. I thought about asking him if they’d hire out; trying to scrub the ‘sin’ out of the Lantern would surely be a perfect penance, and the floors’d come up a treat.

  “Why have you entered our precinct?” he said.

  “I told the guard. I run The Red Lantern, in Goldencat Street. Two of your priests have turned up. They are disrupting my trade.”

  He blinked. “Two Vessels are...”

  “Standing around, in the street, making a damn nuisance of themselves. I want them removed.”

  “I am merely an administrator,” he said. “What action the Vessels decide to take in pursuance of the worship of the Purest is at the discretion of the High Priests.”

  “If they were showing discretion, it wouldn’t be a problem. I want them out of there.”

  “It is part of the beliefs of the order that sin is not permitted to hide, that iniquity be dragged into daylight.”

  “We are hardly hiding. We’re right there, and everyone, including your Order, knows exactly what we do. So who are you dragging us into daylight for?”

  He looked at me as though I were stupid. “The Purest,” he said.

  Theological discussion with fanatics is a lost cause, but I couldn’t help wondering how useful their god was, if he couldn’t spot us for himself. We’re rapidly becoming the best known brothel in Scalentine.

  “Selling pleasure’s legal in Scalentine,” I said, “whether the Vessels like it or not.”

  “It is not my place to question the Vessels or to tell them how they should act.”

  “Then why am I talking to you? Why don’t you go get me someone who actually has some authority, and I’ll talk to them.”

  “Our priests do not...”

  “Converse with females. Yeah, I get it. I tell you what. You tell them what I said, and you send someone to remove those priests before I get back. Because otherwise, I’m going to be doing it myself. And I may be less than polite.”

  He folded his hands and permitted himself half a smile, as though he’d be taxed on the rest.

  “They are standing in the street. Such action is not illegal. Assault, however, is illegal.”

  “Your lot should know.”

  “I do not understand what you are implying.”

  “The whore down in Ropemaker’s Row. The whore who got beaten up by someone wearing a Purity mask. That, Mr Denarven, was assault.”

  “No member of the Order would ever behave in such a way,” he said, his jaw so rigid with distaste he could hardly get the words out.

  “Really.”

  “You have no comprehension of the Order.” His voice had gone very quiet, the way people’s voices do when it’s that, or shout. “However distasteful a Vessel might find the existence of this creature, they could never attack her in that way. Her attacker had to get close to her, to touch her. Impossible. A member of the Order could never again attain purity after touching such a woman.”

  Well now I really wanted to go up to a Vessel and give him a big hug.

  He remembered he was talking to ‘such a woman,’ I saw it on his face, and I wondered if he’d make some kind of half-arsed attempt at an apology, but no. He looked me right in the eye as though daring me to make something of it.

  I realised I wasn’t going to get anywhere, and my temper was boiling up like a kettle.

  “In any case,” I said, shoving back my chair, “get them out of there. I can do things legally and make your lives difficult if I choose...”

  “I do hope that isn’t a threat,” said Denarven.

  “That? No, that’s not a threat. But if I, or any other whore in Scalentine, get any mor
e trouble from your lot, or connected with your lot in any way whatsoever, you will wish, fervently, that I’d gone to the militia with this. That’s a threat. Smooth?”

  “I think we understand each other.”

  “I do hope so.”

  He bowed. We left.

  Previous had even more trouble keeping up with me on the way back; it wasn’t until she put a hand on my arm that I realised I was damn near running. Not to mention gritting my teeth and using words, albeit under my breath, that even I don’t normally use. Like ‘priest,’ for example.

  “Babylon!”

  “Huh? Oh. Sorry.”

  “So,” she said, “you want to tell me what that was about?”

  “We do not need any more trouble. And I don’t care what that administrator said, I’ll eat my sword if the Vessels didn’t have something to do with that girl who got beaten up. What if they try it on one of the crew?”

  “What, like Laney?” Previous said.

  “They’re not all Fey.”

  “They all know how to look after themselves, Babylon. Anyway, s’not what I meant.”

  “Then what are you talking about?”

  “You seemed... upset. I mean, you know, the Vessels haven’t done anything, really.”

  “Apart from destroy an evening’s business,” I said, “and who knows how many more, if we can’t get rid of ’em.” She was still giving me a quizzical look. I sighed. “Look, I just don’t like priests. Or gods. Or temples. I spent a lot of time in them.”

  “You?”

  “Me.”

  Tiresana

  We girls, sprawled on cushions in a silk-hung room. Shakanti seated in the corner, impatient. And our new trainer, a graceful and soft-voiced woman in linen the clean blue of a spring sky. She had assistants with her, two young men, two young women, in loose white robes.

  “My name is Livaia,” she told us. “I am here to teach you how to give pleasure, and how to receive it. It is something that almost anyone can learn to do with some degree of craft, and that is well enough. However, it is the subtleties which transform craft into art. Subtlety, the capacity to take that extra care, is the mark of the true artist.”