(((Continued from
Ain't Nothin')))
Alan and Elan rode in the driver's seat of the passenger carriage. Sat next to one another. Four wagons followed them, filled with eighteen rough looking men and a stockpile of their guns, their swords, their ammunition. Some meager foodstuffs left over from the trip from Arca that went through Blackbane pass in the Kilanthro Mountains and through the Valley and finally into Reajh proper.
They had everything they needed.
Except the damn shipment. The whole reason for the journey to Arca in the first place.
Elan hummed a peppy tune as Alan steered the carriage toward the upcoming city gates of Reajh. She had a knife in one hand, whittling away at what was once a block of wood, but now very much resembled a statuette of a person.
Alan glanced over at his little sister. "Hey, looks like you almost done there, Gizmo."
She smiled. Stuck her tongue partially out of her mouth as she concentrated. "Yup. Just a few finishing touches..."
Alan watched her for a moment; the horses could walk straight on their own. She looked calm. Serene. Happy. Hard to believe she, along with Alan and the rest of the eighteen men, were about to get beaten to a pulp on their Master's order for failing to deliver the shipment. Shit, Alan knew for the longest while that Gizmo wasn't about this life. But what were they gonna do about it? Their Mom and Pop both sold them out to Laython. Mom had a gambling problem, and Pop had a whorehouse problem. Racked up a shitload of debt together. So they cut Alan and Elan loose. Sold them into slavery under Elliot Isaac Laython. Well, Master Laython—been that way for a good ten years or so now.
Alan scratched his chin. One day, maybe one day, they'd have enough of their own money to buy their way out. Hell, enough for Gizmo at least. Alan could do this sort of job for life, son. He was made for shootin' thugs and ugly mugs. But Gizmo? Nah. She wanted out. He knew it. She was a builder, a crafter, a tinker-type, not a shooter. Most of the time she just tossed her pistol to Alan and started reloading his for him if shit got hairy. Hell, if Alan remembered right, she only fired her pistol twice in ten years. Missed both shots. Wasn't even fuckin' close either time. One of those shots accidently hit a chicken in the ass. Damn thing went squawkin' 'round like crazy. But it was all good. Alan Marky Marc Buckley put the shot where it needed to go: right between the eyes of the wacko farmer with the loaded rifle from his old army days. Mothafucker was so high on Ignis Root that it took him a minute to flop dead. Crazy sumbitch, that guy.
That was the kind of shit that made it proof-positive that Gizmo needed out.
"So who is it? That figure there." Alan asked, pointing to the wooden statuette.
Elan grinned. "You."
"Me?"
"Yeah. You. You like it?"
"Aw, come on, Gizmo, cut me some slack. You know I ain't that ugly."
"Well, I still gotta paint it. It'll come out fine. You'll see."
Alan laughed. Clapped her on the back. "I'm jus' teasin'. I know I got a handsome-ass, mothafuckin' face right here. I make all the ladies swoon and drop when I walk into the shop, ya feel me?"
Elan giggled. Gave him some shit back. "Can't say I do. Haven't seen it happen yet."
"That's 'cause you ain't seen my new moves yet, Gizmo. Gotta save the best ones for last. Just wait 'til we get done meetin' up with ol' Master Laython. I'll show you the slick tricks of a manly maestro at the most poppin' tavern in all Reajh. You wait. You'll see."
Elan grinned again. "Yeah. I'll see. I'll see about five different women slap the hell out of you again."
"All part of the plan. That ain't nothin' but the sweet sting of success."
* * * * *
Back to Market Street. To the new brothel behind all the commotion of merchants hawking their wares and shoppers and people talking and walking and all that hubbub. The boss man used to spend most of his time in Uthlyn, at his other two brothels there. But now there was this one. Closer to the action or something. Whatever.
Alan steered the carriage off the main path of Market Street. Down a dirt side street that went between the buildings built on the Street proper. The carriage and the rest of the wagon convoy pulled up in front of a large, nondescript, three-story building. Enough open space for all the wagons of the convoy to pull up and stop in front of the building.
Alan jumped down from the carriage. As did Elan. The eighteen other men all did the same from the wagons.
And they all entered the brothel.
The main lounge was a big room. Suitably dim and relaxing on the eyes. Sweet aromas and perfumes permeated the air. Rugs and sofas and pillows everywhere, all various colors. Some distant moans of pleasure—too early in the day, so not all that wild yet. A staircase at the far end of the lounge, leading up.
Alan and Elan and the eighteen men crowded into the lounge. Most sat down on the sofas. Alan and Elan stood. Elan put the wood statuette into her pocket.
After a few minutes, one of Master Laython's bodyguards came down the stairs. The bald, dark-skinned man, Spectre. He had been expecting them to show at about this time.
Spectre eyed the men. The downtrodden and anxious looks most of them had. Then, to Alan, said, "Where is the shipment?"
"Stolen, my man. Right out from under our noses. Gotta find out what Master Laython wants us to do about that."
Spectre closed his eyes. A hint of frustration and disappointment coming across his face. And he called out to the men of the lounge, "Two volunteers. Tell the working girls and clients inside the brothel to leave. Do this, and there will be no beating for you."
Two men instantly jumped from their seats, much faster than the rest.
"Right here!"
"That's me! Me!"
Spectre pointed to them. "You. You. Get it done. And watch the front doors when you're finished. Tell anybody who asks that we're closed temporarily."
The two lucky men hurried, all but running from room to room and interrupting several different private moments to shoo the prostitutes and clients from the building.
Then Spectre pointed at Alan and Elan. "Now. You and you. Come with me. Mr. Laython will want to speak with you both."
And Spectre started back up the stairs.
Alan saw the nervous look on Elan's face. Laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. A little reassuring shake.
"Hey. Ain't nothin'. Remember. Tense up your stomach muscles. They like to knock the wind outta you first."
She nodded. "Okay. I will."
Alan grinned. "Thatta girl, Gizmo."
And they started up the stairs after Spectre.
Together.