Volume 16: Tales From the Sanctioned Brothel: Part 3: The Chase
Chapter 3
Pas de Deux
In the dimness beyond the door, Einara took the lead.Tilrey remembered the Brothel’s elegant hallways, paneled in tawny wood with lighting artfully hidden just above eye level. Here there were no more cameras; important patrons wanted their privacy.“This is the patrons’ area,” he pointed out. “I hope you haven’t misunderstood what I’m here for.” Surely she wasn’t hoping to distract him with sex—he’d expected better from her.Einara only smiled. “Most of our suites are vacant at this hour. It’s easier to make tea in one, and I thought you might be more comfortable.”She pressed her hand to a wall sensor, and a door popped open. Lights sprang to life.Tilrey stepped in after her. Looking around, he found one of those imitation R-11 sitting rooms that had unsettled him when he came here with Malsha. White walls, white sofas, and even wide, shuttered windows that he suspected opened on blank walls. The lighting was dimmer than normal, though—sexier, presumably.Einara went into a nook at the back of the room, while he sat down on a sofa. “Why would I be comfortable here? Because I live with a Councillor?”She was fussing with a cheap electric kettle—not up to high-Upstart standards, but then, everything here was a shoddy imitation. “We do our best to make everyone comfortable, Fir Bronn. Some with the familiar, some with the exotic.”“Did you bring Ceill to one of these suites?”Ceill’s name made her twitch—a tiny shift that Tilrey wouldn’t have caught if he hadn’t been watching for it. “No.” An indrawn breath, and then her tone was easy and false again. “How is Ceill, Fir Bronn?”“Just fine.” He waited a beat. “You haven’t seen him for a while, then?”“Not since his tests.”Interesting. “He was Notified today.”“Oh?” Einara scooped leaves into the pot, calm as could be. “Diplo, like Fir Councillor Gádden? Or Programming?”She had some nerve, this one. She must understand the threat he could pose if he wanted to. Hulda had taught Einara well—which made it all the stranger that Hulda had discouraged them from making her an ally.“You sound very sure my son’s been Raised,” Tilrey said, returning to his dry tone. “Which strikes me as odd, since the single greatest threat to Ceill’s future was his habit of coming here.”He expected her to shrink from this direct attack. Make excuses. What he didn’t expect was for her to fire back immediately: “More of a threat than his friendship with Aleks Snowblind?”Blindsided, Tilrey had to work to keep his face serene. He wanted to ask how she knew—had Ceill told her? But that would be giving up the upper hand. She couldn’t be allowed to know how much Ceill’s choice of friends bothered him.“My son is too trusting sometimes,” he said. “A certain naïveté comes with privilege, and you seem to have taken advantage of that naïveté.”Einara must have realized she’d overstepped her bounds. She began offering the excuses he’d expected earlier: “I don’t know what you’re imagining, Fir Secretary, or what Ceill may have told you. But we didn’t lure him here. He came to us. My husband, Kai, makes streams in the Outer Ring. Ceill sought him out with some thoughts on his scripts, and Kai let him hang around the set. Ceill was interested in the whole process. Later on, some of the lads invited him back here.”She made it sound so innocent, so incidental. Tilrey knew better, even though her story matched Ceill’s. “When you say ‘some of the lads,’ I assume you mean Stefan Altmering.”If Einara was surprised that he knew the actor’s name, she didn’t show it. “I imagine. Ceill had a bit of a crush on him—many schoolboys do. Stefan’s used to them hanging around.”“But he doesn’t invite those other schoolboys back to his home base. Let’s speak frankly, Fir’n Director. You knew who Ceill was. With him and with those photos, you knew exactly what you were doing.”The kettle bubbled and hissed, and Einara unplugged it, keeping her gaze demurely on her work. Tilrey could already imagine how she’d been as a whore: dreamy, compliant, a little spacey. A useful blankness.That wouldn’t work on him, though. He continued: “Hulda kept you away from Mirella and me, but apparently she told you about us—about me, anyway, because you found a way to make me come to you. The question is, why?”Einara poured water into a white ceramic pot and arranged it on a tray, taking her time. She came over, bent gracefully to deposit the tray on the low table, and sat opposite him.“The photos were Kai’s idea,” she said. “He never meant to offend you; he barely knows who you are. I wanted you to take notice, Fir Bronn. Not Mirella Tunstadt—you.”“How flattering.” For the first time, Tilrey was starting to feel a little out of his depth. Nothing in her face offered a clue to her motives in targeting him.Rather than ask directly again, he said, “I can’t help thinking there must be a reason Hulda didn’t want us to meet.”“There was.”Einara knelt to fill the tumblers just as fluidly as she’d performed the rest of the tea service. She had the timing for the brew right, too—the product of a careful training like the one he’d received. Two excellent whores, Tilrey thought sourly.Hoping to throw her off balance, he said, “I’ve met Outers before. None of them speak Oslov with your flawless Reddan accent.”She offered the tray to him. “My father was an Oslov soldier, or so my mother claimed. I haven’t lived among Outers since I was fifteen.”Fifteen. The Resurgent infiltrators whom Artur had trained were teenagers, though he’d refused to reveal their names.“Let me guess,” Tilrey said, taking a tumbler. “Hulda didn’t want you interfering in her business during her lifetime because you had goals that didn’t match hers.”“Why would my goals matter? I was just a plaything to Fir’n Director—may her last moment be bright,” Einara added piously.Her innocent act was fooling no one. “But Hulda made you her successor because she had a perverse streak. She knew you’d be a wild card, an agent of chaos. And that’s exactly what you are.”Einara’s eyes widened. “Hulda never hid anything from me about what you and your friends were plotting in our basement, Fir Bronn. If I were an agent of chaos, I would have alerted the authorities long ago.”“Are you threatening me?” Tilrey wanted to laugh; he’d deployed that same wide, blue-eyed gaze more times than he could count. “Before we start throwing around ultimatums, maybe you should just come out with what you want.”She still stood holding the tray. “You know who I am, and I want what you want, Fir Bronn. To make Oslovs free. But that wasn’t what Hulda wanted. Not really. She wanted to profit off Strutters and their corrupt networks of patronage.”Her voice was cold and precise now. Nothing flighty about her. She’d been watching them all from her perch in the Brothel; she had Hulda’s number, and she probably thought she had his, too.Tilrey nodded to show her he was impressed. Let her think she was getting somewhere. “Where does an Outer learn this sort of political acumen?”“Where does a kettle boy learn it?” Her eyes glittered. “I read. I studied. I watched and listened.”Point to her, but Tilrey didn’t have all day for this conversation. It was time to be bold—and yes, to bluff if necessary. He sipped his tea—perfectly brewed, allowing for the constraints of this establishment—and said, “I don’t think your story is quite like mine, Einara Derán. Artur Threindal is an old friend of mine. He told me about you.”The tray lurched. Einara set it swiftly back on the table, but her composure had slipped. Her mouth had twisted.A moment later, her face and voice were calm again. “I’m not sure who you mean. Is that a patron?”And then—without waiting for him to answer—she said, “Fir Bronn, if you think I’m eager to stir up chaos, maybe you have a false impression of what went on between Stefan and your son.”Tilrey’s guess was right. It had to be. His stomach lurched—with dread or triumph, he wasn’t sure. After all these years, to find one . . .He wouldn’t pounce on her, though. He would take this slowly. Artur had made it clear that the infiltrators were brainwashed, their loyalty formed through abusive conditioning, and that was something he knew a little about.The kettle boy mindset had taken years to break down, even with him and Gersha working on it together. Had Hulda helped Einara sort out her own troubled mind, assuming she had one? The late director might not have been as pure of intention as Gersha had.His tumbler was shaking; he set it down. Best to let her think she was back in control. “What did go on between Stefan and my son?”“You deserve a proper explanation, Fir Secretary.”Before he could call her back, she crossed the room, slid open a door, and beckoned to someone inside. From his angle, Tilrey saw one corner of a Councillor’s canopied bed, or a replica of one.Through the doorway stepped a ravishing, dark-haired young man wearing only a white robe. He smiled at Tilrey, his teeth very white in his light brown face, and said, “Charmed, Fir.”The boy from the photos. Of course. Rather than getting up, Tilrey waited till the boy came over to clasp his hand. “Stefan Altmering,” he said, giving his tone a little edge. “Ceill’s told me all about you.” Then, to Einara, “How did you have him waiting in there?”She ducked her head—back to the innocent act. “I rang for him while I made the tea. He used the service entrance.”“I’m quick,” Stefan said in an upscale Reddan accent, his tone just this side of insolent. He flopped on the sofa and stretched out with lazy abandon, letting the robe fall almost open. “I’ve been so curious to meet you, Fir Secretary. You’re Window Boy, aren’t you?”“What?” Seeing Einara move toward the front door of the suite, Tilrey added sharply, “Where are you going, Fir’n Director?”“Giving you a chance to get acquainted.” She paused in the doorway. “Normally Stefan has a very select clientele, but you’re a guest here. We’re generous with our guests, Fir Bronn.”“But you know I didn’t come for—shit,” Tilrey muttered as the door hissed shut behind her. Damn it. He’d made it very clear he was here for answers, not to enjoy the Brothel’s attractions, particularly not a boy Ceill was sweet on who was barely older than Ceill himself. What did she take him for?He was on his feet, ready to chase after her, when he realized this wasn’t about him but about Einara. He’d shaken her, and she’d used a diversion to buy time. If he pursued her now, he might only trigger more violent defense mechanisms.Of course, if he didn’t pursue her, she might try something drastic to shut him up. But he could risk that.He sat down again, stiff-legged with frustration. “So this is Fir’n Director’s plan? She brings me to your den and leaves me here for you to seduce?”Stefan smiled in a way he probably thought was very seductive indeed. He arched his back to let the robe drift off one shoulder. “Is that what you’d like to happen, Fir?”Green hells, all this whore rigmarole was tiresome. Tilrey was starting to understand how Gersha must have felt when they first met. “I’m not a Fir,” he said curtly, “and you know it. You’re what they call a Jewel, right? Councillors fight for your time. Isn’t it beneath you to oblige a Drudge?”Stefan shrugged airily. “I do what I’m told. Anyway, you’re better looking than any Councillor I’ve had.” Head tilt. Breathy voice. “Those pictures . . . when Kai showed me, I knew I’d never forget your face. Bet Councillors fought over you, too. I would’ve.”Window Boy. Tilrey was torn between anger and a desperate need to laugh. “You can stop trying to wiggle out of that robe. You seem very good at what you do, but it’s not happening.”Stefan clearly thought this was a feint. He pouted. “We could start with a massage. Go slow.”I said no. But Tilrey had no way of knowing what kind of pressure Einara had put on the boy. “No, thanks,” he said more gently. “I’m not in the habit of being my son’s rival. I guess you also know Ceill is my son?”Stefan dropped his eyes. Then he drew his knees together and closed and belted the robe. In a more natural voice, he said, “Ceill and I never . . . we haven’t done that. We’re just friends. How is he, by the way? Did he get Notified?”The wistfulness in the boy’s voice suggested his own Notification Day was something for which he’d had high hopes. “Ceill’s fine,” Tilrey said. “He’s a Discourser.”“I knew he’d be Raised. He’s a good kid.” Stefan’s eyes gleamed before clouding over. “If you’re here, I guess we won’t be seeing him anymore.”“Ceill’s an adult. He can go where he likes.” Impatience tugged Tilrey’s thoughts back through that door, toward Einara. But he’d made a promise to his son, and he did want to know how Ceill had been spending his time. “He told me you aren’t happy here. He wants to help you.”Stefan made a sound that was half scoffing and half fond. “He told you about that? I didn’t think he would, especially after I said I didn’t need or want his help and sent him packing.”“He mentioned that two allies of mine were involved.” Tilrey summed up briefly what Ceill had told him about Councillors Lindahl and Lindthardt. “I have to say, I’ve never known Lindahl to be that malicious, but he always had a sadistic streak. Something that drew him to the smarter, prouder Drudges so he could humiliate them.”He had Stefan’s interest now. The boy sat up straight, laziness gone. “How do you know? You . . .?”“It was more than twenty years ago. The first thing he did was look up my academic record, which he seemed to find a provocation.”Stefan was nodding eagerly. “He made me rehash my whole schooling. Naked. At the foot of his fucking bed, the prick.”“He didn’t make you do arithmetic aloud for him? During?”The boy yelped with laughter. “No, thank everything green. He made you do that?”“He did.”They shared a grin, the tension in the room dissolving. Tilrey remembered shooting the bull with Bror and Ansha and the others at the Café long ago, comparing the proclivities of the different Councillors they had to endure.But commiseration wasn’t what he’d come for. “I never knew Lindahl to make false promises, though,” he said. “I suspect not following through on your deal was just careless cruelty—until he thought you’d deliberately insulted him by tattling to Lindthardt. Then he had to crush you.”“Well, obviously.” Stefan slumped back on the sofa. “I know now I handled the whole thing wrong.”“You tried the best you could. The back-channel politics of Councillors are so tangled that even I get confused.”“And now you’re Lindahl’s ally?” An incredulous look. “What does that even mean? I mean, you’re impressive and all, and you talk just like them, but he can’t possibly look at you and not see the kid he used to fuck. Those assholes never forget anything.”The boy’s bluntness was growing on Tilrey. “Of course they don’t forget,” he said, making his voice as demure as Einara’s had been. “Most of them are quite fond of me—Lindahl in particular, I think. Because I’ve never openly disrespected him, he thinks I have a submissive, loyal nature, and he’s impressed by how devoted I am to Councillor Gádden. He would never suspect me of doing anything underhanded.”A knowing smile grew on Stefan’s face. “You’ve got him under control. Or you think you do.”“Some of them are easier to lead than others. Enrik Lindahl’s secret is that he has never, in his heart of hearts, felt worthy of his position in life. He’s brilliant, by all accounts, yet he wasn’t even confident enough to let the Notification system play out in his own case. I was told on good authority that he and his friends hacked the E-Squareds.”The boy’s eyes popped. “You can prove that?”“Of course not. It’s hearsay. But I wouldn’t be surprised.” Tilrey grinned again, this time playing up the complicity on purpose. “I’m curious, Stefan—why’d you tell Ceill off? Because you really want to stay in the Brothel? Or because you were sick of this kid prying into your business and crying his sensitive Strutter tears all over you?”Stefan dropped his eyes. Perhaps he blushed; it was hard to tell in the mood lighting. “Ceill really is a good kid,” he said. “If he’s clueless sometimes, that’s not his fault. You probably shielded him from all that.”Tilrey nodded.“Yeah. I would have, too. I guess I figured he couldn’t do much for me, but also . . .” The boy’s mouth twitched. “I can’t imagine going back and working in an office. Not now, with all I know. Too fucking weird. And I like what we’re doing with the stream. I mean, a lot of it is corny bullshit, but we’re making people think about what really divides a Drudge from a Strutter. One bone-headed decision, one piece of bad luck, and somebody’s whole life is different.”“I haven’t seen it,” Tilrey admitted. “Now that you’ve told me that, I intend to.” While Stefan’s head was ducked—with real modesty, it appeared—he pushed on to what interested him. “What about Einara, though? She wouldn’t want to lose one of her Jewels, right?”Stefan raised his head. “Are you asking whether Einara’s forcing me to stay here? Whether she has something on me?”Tilrey arched a brow. Does she?“Einara’s been good to me,” Stefan said. “She and Kai both. When Hulda wanted to put me right to work, they shielded me and let me go at my own pace.”“But now you are working.” Tilrey waved a hand to encompass the whole scene—the pleasure suite, the sofa, Stefan’s minimal clothing. “Do you think she’d let you stop?”Stefan’s jaw was set. “She wouldn’t like it, but she’d find someone new. Einara isn’t Hulda. She’s not just trying to live high off her staff. She understands there’s something wrong with this whole setup. With how they treat us.”He stopped abruptly, and Tilrey hoped this was a testament to Einara’s discretion in discussing the True Hearth. If she was as smart as she seemed, she hadn’t revealed much even to trusted members of her staff.“You seem like a lad whose loyalty has to be earned, not forced,” he said. “And she has earned it, hasn’t she?”Stefan’s face didn’t open up. “We whores have to stick together.”“Do you think she really wanted you to seduce me, or was it a test?”“How should I know?” Annoyance forced its way through the boy’s mask. “She just said to go in the bedroom and be ready; I didn’t even know it was you till I came out. Why don’t you ask her yourself?”“You don’t think she’d be angry with you? For my premature, uh, exit?”Stefan rolled his eyes. “You keep trying to get me to admit I’m scared of Einara. I’m not.” He slid off the couch and adjusted his robe, no longer eager to display his body. “If you want, I’ll take you to her right now. I bet I know right where she is.”
In the dimness beyond the door, Einara took the lead.
Tilrey remembered the Brothel’s elegant hallways, paneled in tawny wood with lighting artfully hidden just above eye level. Here there were no more cameras; important patrons wanted their privacy.
“This is the patrons’ area,” he pointed out. “I hope you haven’t misunderstood what I’m here for.” Surely she wasn’t hoping to distract him with sex—he’d expected better from her.
Einara only smiled. “Most of our suites are vacant at this hour. It’s easier to make tea in one, and I thought you might be more comfortable.”
She pressed her hand to a wall sensor, and a door popped open. Lights sprang to life.
Tilrey stepped in after her. Looking around, he found one of those imitation R-11 sitting rooms that had unsettled him when he came here with Malsha. White walls, white sofas, and even wide, shuttered windows that he suspected opened on blank walls. The lighting was dimmer than normal, though—sexier, presumably.
Einara went into a nook at the back of the room, while he sat down on a sofa. “Why would I be comfortable here? Because I live with a Councillor?”
She was fussing with a cheap electric kettle—not up to high-Upstart standards, but then, everything here was a shoddy imitation. “We do our best to make everyone comfortable, Fir Bronn. Some with the familiar, some with the exotic.”
“Did you bring Ceill to one of these suites?”
Ceill’s name made her twitch—a tiny shift that Tilrey wouldn’t have caught if he hadn’t been watching for it. “No.” An indrawn breath, and then her tone was easy and false again. “How is Ceill, Fir Bronn?”
“Just fine.” He waited a beat. “You haven’t seen him for a while, then?”
“Not since his tests.”
Interesting. “He was Notified today.”
“Oh?” Einara scooped leaves into the pot, calm as could be. “Diplo, like Fir Councillor Gádden? Or Programming?”
She had some nerve, this one. She must understand the threat he could pose if he wanted to. Hulda had taught Einara well—which made it all the stranger that Hulda had discouraged them from making her an ally.
“You sound very sure my son’s been Raised,” Tilrey said, returning to his dry tone. “Which strikes me as odd, since the single greatest threat to Ceill’s future was his habit of coming here.”
He expected her to shrink from this direct attack. Make excuses. What he didn’t expect was for her to fire back immediately: “More of a threat than his friendship with Aleks Snowblind?”
Blindsided, Tilrey had to work to keep his face serene. He wanted to ask how she knew—had Ceill told her? But that would be giving up the upper hand. She couldn’t be allowed to know how much Ceill’s choice of friends bothered him.
“My son is too trusting sometimes,” he said. “A certain naïveté comes with privilege, and you seem to have taken advantage of that naïveté.”
Einara must have realized she’d overstepped her bounds. She began offering the excuses he’d expected earlier: “I don’t know what you’re imagining, Fir Secretary, or what Ceill may have told you. But we didn’t lure him here. He came to us. My husband, Kai, makes streams in the Outer Ring. Ceill sought him out with some thoughts on his scripts, and Kai let him hang around the set. Ceill was interested in the whole process. Later on, some of the lads invited him back here.”
She made it sound so innocent, so incidental. Tilrey knew better, even though her story matched Ceill’s. “When you say ‘some of the lads,’ I assume you mean Stefan Altmering.”
If Einara was surprised that he knew the actor’s name, she didn’t show it. “I imagine. Ceill had a bit of a crush on him—many schoolboys do. Stefan’s used to them hanging around.”
“But he doesn’t invite those other schoolboys back to his home base. Let’s speak frankly, Fir’n Director. You knew who Ceill was. With him and with those photos, you knew exactly what you were doing.”
The kettle bubbled and hissed, and Einara unplugged it, keeping her gaze demurely on her work. Tilrey could already imagine how she’d been as a whore: dreamy, compliant, a little spacey. A useful blankness.
That wouldn’t work on him, though. He continued: “Hulda kept you away from Mirella and me, but apparently she told you about us—about me, anyway, because you found a way to make me come to you. The question is, why?”
Einara poured water into a white ceramic pot and arranged it on a tray, taking her time. She came over, bent gracefully to deposit the tray on the low table, and sat opposite him.
“The photos were Kai’s idea,” she said. “He never meant to offend you; he barely knows who you are. I wanted you to take notice, Fir Bronn. Not Mirella Tunstadt—you.”
“How flattering.” For the first time, Tilrey was starting to feel a little out of his depth. Nothing in her face offered a clue to her motives in targeting him.
Rather than ask directly again, he said, “I can’t help thinking there must be a reason Hulda didn’t want us to meet.”
“There was.”
Einara knelt to fill the tumblers just as fluidly as she’d performed the rest of the tea service. She had the timing for the brew right, too—the product of a careful training like the one he’d received. Two excellent whores, Tilrey thought sourly.
Hoping to throw her off balance, he said, “I’ve met Outers before. None of them speak Oslov with your flawless Reddan accent.”
She offered the tray to him. “My father was an Oslov soldier, or so my mother claimed. I haven’t lived among Outers since I was fifteen.”
Fifteen. The Resurgent infiltrators whom Artur had trained were teenagers, though he’d refused to reveal their names.
“Let me guess,” Tilrey said, taking a tumbler. “Hulda didn’t want you interfering in her business during her lifetime because you had goals that didn’t match hers.”
“Why would my goals matter? I was just a plaything to Fir’n Director—may her last moment be bright,” Einara added piously.
Her innocent act was fooling no one. “But Hulda made you her successor because she had a perverse streak. She knew you’d be a wild card, an agent of chaos. And that’s exactly what you are.”
Einara’s eyes widened. “Hulda never hid anything from me about what you and your friends were plotting in our basement, Fir Bronn. If I were an agent of chaos, I would have alerted the authorities long ago.”
“Are you threatening me?” Tilrey wanted to laugh; he’d deployed that same wide, blue-eyed gaze more times than he could count. “Before we start throwing around ultimatums, maybe you should just come out with what you want.”
She still stood holding the tray. “You know who I am, and I want what you want, Fir Bronn. To make Oslovs free. But that wasn’t what Hulda wanted. Not really. She wanted to profit off Strutters and their corrupt networks of patronage.”
Her voice was cold and precise now. Nothing flighty about her. She’d been watching them all from her perch in the Brothel; she had Hulda’s number, and she probably thought she had his, too.
Tilrey nodded to show her he was impressed. Let her think she was getting somewhere. “Where does an Outer learn this sort of political acumen?”
“Where does a kettle boy learn it?” Her eyes glittered. “I read. I studied. I watched and listened.”
Point to her, but Tilrey didn’t have all day for this conversation. It was time to be bold—and yes, to bluff if necessary. He sipped his tea—perfectly brewed, allowing for the constraints of this establishment—and said, “I don’t think your story is quite like mine, Einara Derán. Artur Threindal is an old friend of mine. He told me about you.”
The tray lurched. Einara set it swiftly back on the table, but her composure had slipped. Her mouth had twisted.
A moment later, her face and voice were calm again. “I’m not sure who you mean. Is that a patron?”
And then—without waiting for him to answer—she said, “Fir Bronn, if you think I’m eager to stir up chaos, maybe you have a false impression of what went on between Stefan and your son.”
Tilrey’s guess was right. It had to be. His stomach lurched—with dread or triumph, he wasn’t sure. After all these years, to find one . . .
He wouldn’t pounce on her, though. He would take this slowly. Artur had made it clear that the infiltrators were brainwashed, their loyalty formed through abusive conditioning, and that was something he knew a little about.
The kettle boy mindset had taken years to break down, even with him and Gersha working on it together. Had Hulda helped Einara sort out her own troubled mind, assuming she had one? The late director might not have been as pure of intention as Gersha had.
His tumbler was shaking; he set it down. Best to let her think she was back in control. “What did go on between Stefan and my son?”
“You deserve a proper explanation, Fir Secretary.”
Before he could call her back, she crossed the room, slid open a door, and beckoned to someone inside. From his angle, Tilrey saw one corner of a Councillor’s canopied bed, or a replica of one.
Through the doorway stepped a ravishing, dark-haired young man wearing only a white robe. He smiled at Tilrey, his teeth very white in his light brown face, and said, “Charmed, Fir.”
The boy from the photos. Of course. Rather than getting up, Tilrey waited till the boy came over to clasp his hand. “Stefan Altmering,” he said, giving his tone a little edge. “Ceill’s told me all about you.” Then, to Einara, “How did you have him waiting in there?”
She ducked her head—back to the innocent act. “I rang for him while I made the tea. He used the service entrance.”
“I’m quick,” Stefan said in an upscale Reddan accent, his tone just this side of insolent. He flopped on the sofa and stretched out with lazy abandon, letting the robe fall almost open. “I’ve been so curious to meet you, Fir Secretary. You’re Window Boy, aren’t you?”
“What?” Seeing Einara move toward the front door of the suite, Tilrey added sharply, “Where are you going, Fir’n Director?”
“Giving you a chance to get acquainted.” She paused in the doorway. “Normally Stefan has a very select clientele, but you’re a guest here. We’re generous with our guests, Fir Bronn.”
“But you know I didn’t come for—shit,” Tilrey muttered as the door hissed shut behind her. Damn it. He’d made it very clear he was here for answers, not to enjoy the Brothel’s attractions, particularly not a boy Ceill was sweet on who was barely older than Ceill himself. What did she take him for?
He was on his feet, ready to chase after her, when he realized this wasn’t about him but about Einara. He’d shaken her, and she’d used a diversion to buy time. If he pursued her now, he might only trigger more violent defense mechanisms.
Of course, if he didn’t pursue her, she might try something drastic to shut him up. But he could risk that.
He sat down again, stiff-legged with frustration. “So this is Fir’n Director’s plan? She brings me to your den and leaves me here for you to seduce?”
Stefan smiled in a way he probably thought was very seductive indeed. He arched his back to let the robe drift off one shoulder. “Is that what you’d like to happen, Fir?”
Green hells, all this whore rigmarole was tiresome. Tilrey was starting to understand how Gersha must have felt when they first met. “I’m not a Fir,” he said curtly, “and you know it. You’re what they call a Jewel, right? Councillors fight for your time. Isn’t it beneath you to oblige a Drudge?”
Stefan shrugged airily. “I do what I’m told. Anyway, you’re better looking than any Councillor I’ve had.” Head tilt. Breathy voice. “Those pictures . . . when Kai showed me, I knew I’d never forget your face. Bet Councillors fought over you, too. I would’ve.”
Window Boy. Tilrey was torn between anger and a desperate need to laugh. “You can stop trying to wiggle out of that robe. You seem very good at what you do, but it’s not happening.”
Stefan clearly thought this was a feint. He pouted. “We could start with a massage. Go slow.”
I said no. But Tilrey had no way of knowing what kind of pressure Einara had put on the boy. “No, thanks,” he said more gently. “I’m not in the habit of being my son’s rival. I guess you also know Ceill is my son?”
Stefan dropped his eyes. Then he drew his knees together and closed and belted the robe. In a more natural voice, he said, “Ceill and I never . . . we haven’t done that. We’re just friends. How is he, by the way? Did he get Notified?”
The wistfulness in the boy’s voice suggested his own Notification Day was something for which he’d had high hopes. “Ceill’s fine,” Tilrey said. “He’s a Discourser.”
“I knew he’d be Raised. He’s a good kid.” Stefan’s eyes gleamed before clouding over. “If you’re here, I guess we won’t be seeing him anymore.”
“Ceill’s an adult. He can go where he likes.” Impatience tugged Tilrey’s thoughts back through that door, toward Einara. But he’d made a promise to his son, and he did want to know how Ceill had been spending his time. “He told me you aren’t happy here. He wants to help you.”
Stefan made a sound that was half scoffing and half fond. “He told you about that? I didn’t think he would, especially after I said I didn’t need or want his help and sent him packing.”
“He mentioned that two allies of mine were involved.” Tilrey summed up briefly what Ceill had told him about Councillors Lindahl and Lindthardt. “I have to say, I’ve never known Lindahl to be that malicious, but he always had a sadistic streak. Something that drew him to the smarter, prouder Drudges so he could humiliate them.”
He had Stefan’s interest now. The boy sat up straight, laziness gone. “How do you know? You . . .?”
“It was more than twenty years ago. The first thing he did was look up my academic record, which he seemed to find a provocation.”
Stefan was nodding eagerly. “He made me rehash my whole schooling. Naked. At the foot of his fucking bed, the prick.”
“He didn’t make you do arithmetic aloud for him? During?”
The boy yelped with laughter. “No, thank everything green. He made you do that?”
“He did.”
They shared a grin, the tension in the room dissolving. Tilrey remembered shooting the bull with Bror and Ansha and the others at the Café long ago, comparing the proclivities of the different Councillors they had to endure.
But commiseration wasn’t what he’d come for. “I never knew Lindahl to make false promises, though,” he said. “I suspect not following through on your deal was just careless cruelty—until he thought you’d deliberately insulted him by tattling to Lindthardt. Then he had to crush you.”
“Well, obviously.” Stefan slumped back on the sofa. “I know now I handled the whole thing wrong.”
“You tried the best you could. The back-channel politics of Councillors are so tangled that even I get confused.”
“And now you’re Lindahl’s ally?” An incredulous look. “What does that even mean? I mean, you’re impressive and all, and you talk just like them, but he can’t possibly look at you and not see the kid he used to fuck. Those assholes never forget anything.”
The boy’s bluntness was growing on Tilrey. “Of course they don’t forget,” he said, making his voice as demure as Einara’s had been. “Most of them are quite fond of me—Lindahl in particular, I think. Because I’ve never openly disrespected him, he thinks I have a submissive, loyal nature, and he’s impressed by how devoted I am to Councillor Gádden. He would never suspect me of doing anything underhanded.”
A knowing smile grew on Stefan’s face. “You’ve got him under control. Or you think you do.”
“Some of them are easier to lead than others. Enrik Lindahl’s secret is that he has never, in his heart of hearts, felt worthy of his position in life. He’s brilliant, by all accounts, yet he wasn’t even confident enough to let the Notification system play out in his own case. I was told on good authority that he and his friends hacked the E-Squareds.”
The boy’s eyes popped. “You can prove that?”
“Of course not. It’s hearsay. But I wouldn’t be surprised.” Tilrey grinned again, this time playing up the complicity on purpose. “I’m curious, Stefan—why’d you tell Ceill off? Because you really want to stay in the Brothel? Or because you were sick of this kid prying into your business and crying his sensitive Strutter tears all over you?”
Stefan dropped his eyes. Perhaps he blushed; it was hard to tell in the mood lighting. “Ceill really is a good kid,” he said. “If he’s clueless sometimes, that’s not his fault. You probably shielded him from all that.”
Tilrey nodded.
“Yeah. I would have, too. I guess I figured he couldn’t do much for me, but also . . .” The boy’s mouth twitched. “I can’t imagine going back and working in an office. Not now, with all I know. Too fucking weird. And I like what we’re doing with the stream. I mean, a lot of it is corny bullshit, but we’re making people think about what really divides a Drudge from a Strutter. One bone-headed decision, one piece of bad luck, and somebody’s whole life is different.”
“I haven’t seen it,” Tilrey admitted. “Now that you’ve told me that, I intend to.” While Stefan’s head was ducked—with real modesty, it appeared—he pushed on to what interested him. “What about Einara, though? She wouldn’t want to lose one of her Jewels, right?”
Stefan raised his head. “Are you asking whether Einara’s forcing me to stay here? Whether she has something on me?”
Tilrey arched a brow. Does she?
“Einara’s been good to me,” Stefan said. “She and Kai both. When Hulda wanted to put me right to work, they shielded me and let me go at my own pace.”
“But now you are working.” Tilrey waved a hand to encompass the whole scene—the pleasure suite, the sofa, Stefan’s minimal clothing. “Do you think she’d let you stop?”
Stefan’s jaw was set. “She wouldn’t like it, but she’d find someone new. Einara isn’t Hulda. She’s not just trying to live high off her staff. She understands there’s something wrong with this whole setup. With how they treat us.”
He stopped abruptly, and Tilrey hoped this was a testament to Einara’s discretion in discussing the True Hearth. If she was as smart as she seemed, she hadn’t revealed much even to trusted members of her staff.
“You seem like a lad whose loyalty has to be earned, not forced,” he said. “And she has earned it, hasn’t she?”
Stefan’s face didn’t open up. “We whores have to stick together.”
“Do you think she really wanted you to seduce me, or was it a test?”
“How should I know?” Annoyance forced its way through the boy’s mask. “She just said to go in the bedroom and be ready; I didn’t even know it was you till I came out. Why don’t you ask her yourself?”
“You don’t think she’d be angry with you? For my premature, uh, exit?”
Stefan rolled his eyes. “You keep trying to get me to admit I’m scared of Einara. I’m not.” He slid off the couch and adjusted his robe, no longer eager to display his body. “If you want, I’ll take you to her right now. I bet I know right where she is.”