Lost at Sea Bk. 02 Ch. 23

Jack giggled as they approached it. "My grandmother had a bridge almost exactly like that over a brook in her rose garden."

Behind the bridge, the red wall loomed. Now that they were closer, they could see it wasn't really a building. It was built right onto the stone wall, as if a red saloon had been pushed into the stone and only protruded a little. Large brass letters above the swinging doors said The Red House, as if it wasn't obvious.

The wide porch out front of the place was lively, full of an odd assortment of tables and chairs where sailors drank and gambled in the early evening sun. Scantily clad serving girls flitted about delivering their wares and trying to avoid grabbing hands. A trio of musicians played the jaunty music they'd heard earlier from the jungle.

They weaved through the sparse crowd and nearly made it inside when a drunk reached out to paw at Jack's behind. She swung her scattergun from where it hung behind her around to her front, slapping it into her other hand just as the man grabbed her ass.

He froze as three steel bores thicker than his thumb leveled themselves inches from his face. The music halted suddenly and everyone on the deck turned to watch the sudden confrontation. The drunk slowly withdrew his hand and leaned back, but Jack took a step forward to match his movement.

"Hands off," Jack said quietly.

"Dinnae mean nothin' by it," the drunk said, blinking his eyes to focus on the woman behind the gun.

"I don't care," Jack said flatly.

All around her, people were slowly reaching for their weapons. Will took a casual step towards the closest of them and rested his palms on the hilts of his sword and dagger. He shook his head in warning and for a moment the crowd stopped again.

The drunk nodded and finished retracting the offending hand. "Right. Sorry then," he apologized awkwardly.

Jack swung her weapon behind her back again and adjusted it's sling with a practiced tug, then turned on her heel and walked away.

Will dug a coin out of his pocket and dropped it into the drunk's lap. "You look like you need a drink."

"What the fuck just happened," the bewildered man asked.

"You survived," Will said with a congratulatory grin.

The drunk picked up the coin and looked at it, then shrugged and held it up to catch a serving girl's attention. Suddenly the spell was broken. Music hesitantly started up again, and the games resumed. The drunk's friends clapped him on the shoulders and laughed at him. Just like on the platform, the sudden violence fazed nobody. Will glanced around one last time, then followed Jack through the swinging doors.

He found her leaning against the inside wall waiting for him with a self-satisfied expression on her face.

"You were ready for that," Will said accusingly.

Jack shrugged. "Seemed like it was only a matter of time before someone got handsy."

"You could have just sidestepped him," Will continued.

Jack nodded. "True."

"You picking a fight every time we go somewhere new was not something I missed," Will said.

"Yes you did," Jack said with a smirk.

Will let out a single laugh. "Wll, maybe a little."

"Now they know. Word will spread," Jack said pushing herself off the wall. "It will make everything else easier."

Will sighed. "So much for keeping a low profile."

Jack tapped the bar to get the barkeep's attention. A bald Akula man with intricate facial tattoos looked her way and gave her a nod, then went back to filling mugs. "In a place like this, I think being known the right way is better than trying not to be known," Jack mused as she waited.

Will took a better look around now that his eyes had adjusted from the brightness outside. It was as clearly a bordello as anywhere he'd seen. Women wore little, and draped themselves on customers, chairs, tables, and staircases alike. Men were largely drunk and happy as they played grabass with any skirt in arm's reach.

The decor was as if leftovers from other bordellos had been swept into a pile and dumped inside the room. It was all ostentatiously gaudy, the way cheap people who fumble at being classy tended to decorate, but there was no unifying theme to any of it. A stained red velvet chaise with brass trim sat in front of a white leather tuffet that had obviously been stitched back together many times. A tall wooden chair fit for a lord had a target board hanging from the back of it. A man sat in it with a girl on his knee, while a group behind him hurled darts. The dark, rich banquet table in the center of the room was ringed with mismatched chairs and had a dagger sticking out of it.

Two curving staircases arced gracefully up to a second floor balcony, but on one side the stairs had collapsed. The chandelier above them was missing quite a few crystals and did not have a single lit candle, but did have dozens of pairs of colorful women's undergarments hanging from it.

The walls were covered with old portraits of all sizes. Many were ripped or water damaged. He recognized clothing and complexions from everywhere he could think of.

Behind him, the barkeep pointed Jack up the stairs. She nudged him and they made their way through the crowd.

"Interesting place," Will said.

"That's one way to describe it," Jack said with a snort.

Will tapped her arm and nodded towards the left wall. "See the portrait toward the top? Blond man, red uniform with a saber?"

Jack glanced. "Yeah. Looks familiar."

"That's Captain Banton," Will said.

Jack looked again. "You're right. Why is that here?"

"My guess is, it's a trophy. I think everything here is," Will explained quietly.

Jack scanned the room again. "Well that seems ominous."

A big Nivalese man with a brace of pistols on his chest and a jagged, bright blue scar bisecting his face stood at the base of the stairs and put a hand out as they approached. "Business?" he growled. Between his thick accent and split lips, they almost didn't understand him.

"We have a ship that needs repaired. We were told to speak with Shady," Will said.

The big man headed up the stairs. "Wait here."

"Recognize that blue scar," Will asked Jack.

"No," Jack said. "Is this another sea story?"

"Yup," Will said. "It's distinctive. Something of a mark of honor for sailors in this part of the world, like rings in the ears, or voyage tattoos."

"What's it mean?" Jack asked.

"It means he's tough as nails," Will said.

"Well, he looks like someone hit him in the face with an axe and he didn't die, so that makes sense," Jack shrugged.

"Not that," Will said. "Well, not just that anyway."

Jack gave him a sidelong look. "Are you going to tell me, or keep dangling this carrot and hoping I'll bite?"

Will chuckled. "That blue color to the scar means he was stitched up by a local legend, a Nivali shaman called the Sandman."

"Sea names always sound so silly," Jack replied dubiously. "Isn't the Sandman a fairytale about a sprite who puts people to sleep?"

Will watched the chaos of the room and continued. "It's just what he's called. I don't know the significance of the name. That's not the point. He's a healer, and a damn good one from what I've heard, but he doesn't use anything to dull the pain. No salves, or opium, or alcohol."

"That man had his entire face stitched up, sober?" Jack said, suddenly wide eyed.

Will nodded. "As a stone. According to the stories Sandman thinks that pain is some kind of test. If you see a blue scar like that, it means that person passed."

Jack was begrudgingly impressed. "Alright, lets not fight that guy."

"Go on," the man with the blue scar said as he came back down the stairs. "Center table."

Will gave the man a nod of thanks and headed up, then paused on the stairs as a string of expletives echoed through the rafters.

"I know ye did it, ye hellwhore! Ye cannae keep doing this shite tae me! I gotta feckin' eat!"

Whatever the reply was, Will couldn't hear, but the angry woman obviously wasn't done.

"It's never going tae happen, ye sodden cuntrag! I don't care what ye do! Just kill us an' have done with it, or leave my sister an' I the feck alone!"

In a stomping burst of continued profanity, Jack and Will were passed on the stairs by a short, red haired woman wearing grease stained overalls and a dirty sleeveless undershirt. Will blinked in surprise as he caught a quick view of her arms. Her freckled shoulders were cabled like an iron hauler. She was still small and undeniably feminine, but built thick. He could see every cord and rope of the muscles in her arms as she clenched her fists.

"What the bleedin' feck are you staring at, fancy pants?" the woman snarled, whirling on him and pointing a stubby finger up into his face. She wore the same expression that Jack had earlier when she'd drawn down on the drunk outside.

"Uh, sorry. Didn't mean nothin by it." Will held his hands up and gave her an apologetic smile.

"Fekin' ay, right," she snarled, then whipped away and finished her furious descent down the stairs. "Move yer arse, Hatchet!" she snapped at the scar-faced bouncer. He started to move, but apparently wasn't fast enough and got shoved aside as she passed. He stumbled and thumped against the wall hard enough to crack the red plaster and shake the timbers, but was apparently no worse for wear for it. The whole room had gone quiet during her tirade and parted to let her pass.

"Nice to see you too, Candy!" the blue-scarred bouncer said with an exasperated wave ass he pushed himself off the wall.

She gave him the finger over her shoulder, crashed through the swinging doors, and was gone.

"Damn," Will muttered, giving Jack a sidelong look and an impressed smile.

"Quite," Jack nodded, trying not to laugh. "I like her."

"Did you see her arms?" Will whispered. "She looked like someone put a wig on Colin."

"Who's Colin?" Jack asked.

Will rolled his eyes and continued up the stairs. "Nevermind."

The upper landing was much more sparsely populated. There weren't more than twenty in the whole balcony, but every eye watched them as they crested the rise. Will saw frock coats and gold rings, a monocle, fine gloves, polished buttons, canes, and swords, scars and bodyguards, braces of pistols, white lace, and even a Malaharan ship officer's uniform. These were captains, merchants, and their retinue. Vex and Morant would fit right in at one of these tables. Everyone they saw had the kind of outwardly calm, but inwardly prepared demeanor that came from being powerful, dangerous, and competent.

In the center of it all was a woman in white sitting at a half circle table that had been pressed against the balcony railing. She stood as they approached. She was Akula, but her dress was imperial high fashion. It sat off her shoulders, proudly displaying her assets behind a high corset. Every inch of pristine cloth was embroidered with pink flowers. It seemed like it should belong to a noble lady enjoying a summer outing, but the woman who wore it looked far more sinister.

Her exposed chest and shoulders were expertly tattooed in a stylized web. At its center, poking its head from between her breasts was the image of a large red and black spider. It's four front legs curled up from beneath her corset stretching from the curve of her breasts to just below her shoulders and collar bones. Her hair was just beginning to grey. She had it curled and piled atop her head in a semblance of imperial fashion, but the sides of her scalp were shaved, displaying more spiderweb tattoos. The webs on the sides of her head ran behind her ears and down her neck to connect with the pattern on her shoulders and chest, and out of her hairline to her temples, delicately framing her almond eyes. The entire effect reminded Will of a spiderweb wimple, like the kind worn by Magistrate Sisters.

Atop her head, pinned at an angle to show off her hair, was a wide brimmed white hat that matched her dress. A veil of fine netting covered half her face, but they could clearly see her red-lipped smile as she spread her arms to greet them.

"Friends! Forgive the outburst, please sit. Welcome to my parlor!"