I turned back to my new friend, Alfred. I could smell the stench of his urine from here, and he gripped his pen like it was a lifeline.
I pointed my sword at his neck. “Where is the Mysterium Liber?”
He rasped, “We are the Free Men,” and finding some hidden well of strength, he threw his pen at me with a little yelp.
I smirked. Unfortunately for him, the pen is not actually mightier than the sword.
Asmodai cleaved his traitorous head in two, and the glory of the kill spilled up my arms, a warm light on my body.
I sheathed my sword , my exhilaration replaced with disappointment.
This had been nothing but an ambush, and I was no closer to finding the Mysterium Liber.
I crossed outside into the rain, hoping it would wash some of the blood off me. When I showed up at the Bibliotek Music Hall, I didn’t want to arrive soaked in gore.
My dreams had told me I’d be looking for a woman going by the name of Zahra.
4
Lila
I shoved my way through the crowd, trying to crouch down to escape the eye-line of the Rough Boys.
I loved nearly everything about the music hall, except for the guards. They allowed any old creep into the floor level—the drunks, the thieves like me.
But when it came to the upper stories? You had to actually be somebody. The mezzanine above me was for high class courtesans, singers, musicians, actors, writers, landlords, merchants. My best friend Zahra worked up there.
And to sit in a box on the upper floor—you’d need to be a duke or something. I’d heard rumors that bookshelves lined all the walls and people feasted on roast chickens and fresh strawberries while servants brought them drinks. You could pay to watch all kinds of depravities, while drinking claret from crystal goblets.
They’d never let me up there.
But neither would they allow entry to lowlife Rough Boys, would they? That was the only part of the club where I’d be untouchable.
If I could get up there, I’d be golden. Totally, completely safe.
The song changed, and a swell of horns filled the hall. With elbows flying out to either side, I shoved my way to the stairwell. And all the way, I was scanning the crowd for Zahra.
A line of guards stood before the stairs, dressed in navy button-down shirts, hair slicked back. They looked sleek as anything, except for the pot bellies. All of them had pistols.
“I need to get through, please, it’s important.”
One of them snorted audibly, then stared down at me. “Don’t think so. The mezzanine is not for lowlifes.”
“Beg your pardon.” As I stole a glance over my shoulder, I saw with a flicker of relief that the three Rough Boys had already got themselves into a fight with a group of men. They seemed to have interpersonal issues.
“I’ve got Rough Boys after me, and they want to cut off my nose,” I said.
“Not our problem, is it?”
Then—like an angel descending from the heavens—my best friend appeared on the stairs behind them.
Her dark curls draped over a shimmering cream gown. “Lila? What’s going on?”
“Zahra! I need your help. I’ve got Rough Boys on my back. Can you convince the guards to let me up?”
“Not happening!” One of the guards barked. “Only courtesans and clients.”
“What If I was a courtesan for an hour?” I offered.
Zahra nodded. “She can take my shift.”
“Thank you, Zahra.” I heaved a sigh of relief.
“What, you?” asked one of the guards. “You look like a drowned rat. And I doubt you know what you’re doing. Doubt Ernald wants you working on an upper floor.”
“Zahra will fix me up.”
Zahra reached through the line of guards toward me. “You have nothing to worry about. Ernald won’t mind.”
I wasn’t entirely sure that was true, and I’d make a terrible courtesan.
But when I looked behind, I saw that the Rough Boys had spotted me, and they were running right for me.
“And she’ll give you her earnings,” Zahra promised the guards.
The worst thing about being poor was that you found yourself getting into increasingly terrible deals to try to get out of the last terrible deal. Start with a bad loan, and next thing you knew you were working as a courtesan for free.
“Fine,” said the guard. “But you’ll need to come down after you get her ready, Zahra. Can’t have whores lingering in the halls.”
“Courtesans,” she snapped. “Dickhead.”
“You’ve got five minutes,” he shot back, “or I’ll come up there and drag you down myself.”
I clasped Zahra’s hand, and the guards parted just enough to let me through. Red velvet stairs rose up before me, opening at the top into a candlelit hall.
“No riff-raff,” I heard a guard growl, and I turned back to see the line of guards, their pistols aimed at the Rough Boys.
Lost them again. I wanted to gloat, but if the Rough Boys caught the smug look on my face, they’d run through bullets to get to me.
We started climbing the stairway , where paintings of naked women festooned the walls. Near the top, Zahra turned to me and crossed her arms. For a moment, she pursed her bright red lips.
“What?” I asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Please don’t tell me you were stupid enough to borrow money from Diamond Danny.”
“Of course I wasn’t. My mum borrowed it. You know how she is.”
“Ah, now that makes sense.” Zahra leaned forward into the hall, looking left and right. Then she grabbed my hand and pulled me up into a wood corridor, dimly lit with lanterns. A red carpet lined the floor like a long, red tongue. “You know, I think this could be a terrible idea.”
“I can do a good job.” I bit my lip. “That’s not entirely true. Is there a way to do this without actually having sex with anyone?”
“Yes. Most of my clients don’t want sex.”
“Really?”
“There are cheaper girls outside for that.”
She pushed through a door into a room where racks of skimpy clothes lined two of the walls, and an enormous mirror lined another. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting warm light over red upholstered furniture. And in the center of the room stood a table with a bottle of champagne and glasses.
“Okay. So what do they want?”
“To be tied up and spanked, tortured with a feather. The feather is key. You’ll see what I mean. But it’s actually quite complicated. I’m not sure you’re up for this.”
“I’ll be grand. I’m great with a feather.” I had no idea what I was talking about. “What do I wear?”
She frowned at me. “We don’t have long. Take off your clothes.”
My nerves were getting the better of me as I untied my coat. I was twenty-five, so it wasn’t like I was a virgin entirely. But I wasn’t exactly experienced. In fact, I’d only slept with one bloke before—a posh guy who never wanted his friends to know I existed.
“Zahra, do you think customers will be disappointed when they see it’s not you?”
Already, Zahra was picking through the clothes, looking for something for me to wear. “Maybe don’t tell them. We’re the same size. We’ve both got brown curls. You’re not as dark as me, but if they ask, just say it’s cosmetics or something. Men haven’t got a clue about that, have they? I often wear a mask, so they won’t be able to see your face anyway. You just go into the vestibule, say hello to the guard. There’s a new guy tonight, just starting his shift. Then you just wait in the boudoir for the first client. And maybe no one will come.”