Chapter 3: Gersha Figures Besha Out — The Key of Oslov

Volume 7: It's Her Party

Chapter 3 Gersha Figures Besha Out

Chapter Notes

Thanks to mugi_says_eep for the idea that led me to add this chapter! In which there is crème brûlée, and I really wish I had some right now. :)

Chapter Notes

Thanks to mugi_says_eep for the idea that led me to add this chapter! In which there is crème brûlée, and I really wish I had some right now. :)

It was getting late in the evening, the dinner hour past, and most of the tables in the Restaurant were vacant. Besha led Gersha through the dimly lit interior, past spiky-leaved, flowering plants in pots and a few murmuring young couples, to a booth snugged up against the ribbed glass outer wall.A server in a white coverall sidled up. Besha made two orders that sounded to Gersha like nonsense words, then asked, “You?”“Nothing, thanks.” He kept his face severe, reminding Besha he’d come here to be polite and not because he wanted any more of the man’s company.“We need to talk,” Besha had insisted as they left Davita’s. Gersha had been too exhausted from the acrimonious tea party, and too preoccupied by wrenching thoughts of what he’d left Tilrey to, to say no.“Don’t be silly, you barely ate before. Get him the same,” Besha said, and waved the server away.“You’re going to love this brandy they have.” Besha sprawled forward on his elbows, onto Gersha’s side of the table. The man looked remarkably happy and punchy, Gersha thought, for someone who had just been systematically humiliated by his spouse, had his ugly past exposed to a colleague, and thrown a fit over all of it.“It’s made from Bettevy apples, and you can practically taste the autumn and the orchard in it. An ‘orchard’ is a bunch of fruit-bearing trees—but you probably know that. What’s wrong?” Besha added, as if finally registering Gersha’s glumness.Gersha gazed through the curved glass at the block of last-century façades, all tall windows and fanciful stone cornices, their neat angles permanently smudged with snow. “What’s wrong with me? Why are you so chipper suddenly? I’m starting to think that if I were married to you, I’d treat you like a child, too.”“Perish the thought.” Besha patted Gersha’s hand, chuckling; Gersha tensed. “What can I say? I always feel better after I’ve let it rip a little, and Davita understands that.”“You mean that kind of thing . . . happens often?” Gersha couldn’t imagine squabbling with Tilrey that way. The few disagreements they’d had involved staying aloof from each other for a few hours or days, followed by mutual apologies and reconciliation in bed.“Well, I don’t usually get so political. That was to explain my vote, so she doesn’t get suspicious.” Besha had lowered his voice. “You’re not really worried about her with Rishka, are you? He can take care of himself.”Gersha inched away from those too-keen eyes. “Yes. He can always take care of himself in the moment, but after . . . do you know he has nightmares?”It was a private thing to mention, but then, the three of them had shared a bed for a full night. Sooner or later, Besha was likely to witness those nightmares for himself. He might as well know that even Tilrey’s resilience had limits.“Nightmares?” Besha looked puzzled, but a radiant smile took over his face as the server deposited two small crystal glasses and two saucers on the table. “Ah, the crème brûlée. You haven’t lived till you’ve eaten this. Gersha, I insist.”The stuff in the saucer looked vaguely like rice pudding, but smoother and with a perversely burnt top. Gersha shattered the caramelization with his spoon, picked up some of the yellowy-white fat, and gingerly inserted it in his mouth.Sweetness exploded on his tongue, lighting up the pleasure centers of his brain in a hectic way that reminded him alarmingly of an orgasm. “That’s actual dairy that had to be flown here in a refrigerated container, and way more sugar than anyone should consume in a single serving,” he said accusingly, and took a second bite.“I know.” Besha dug in gleefully. “That’s the point!” He sipped his brandy, his expression clouding again. “You don’t mean he has nightmares about stuff I did to him, do you?”“I wouldn’t know.” Gersha tried a tiny sip of the brandy, which was sweet as well as heady. He might not sleep tonight, but then, that was already a foregone conclusion. “I don’t quiz him on what he dreams about. I just hold him till it’s over. But you should know he’s not something you can use and break.”“Me, use him?” Besha stared wide-eyed. “This whole thing with Davita was Tilrey’s idea. He said he could bring her around, and I said, ‘Be my guest, you’re welcome to try.’”Gersha was neither surprised nor reassured. He took another small swallow, feeling warmth spread through his chest. If sapping was like being led by a soft, maternal hand down into a warm labyrinth that muffled all sounds and sensations, drinking alcohol was more like being set on fire. How did Harbourers bear all this stimulation?“I hope you gave him some guidance, at least,” he said.“Of course!” Besha chuckled. “I told him things way too intimate for your tender ears. There are things only us whores understand.”Gersha remembered how Besha had called himself a “fuck-piece” earlier. “Don’t be absurd. You can’t understand what it’s like to be treated the way he’s been treated, any more than I can. All the stuff you said about reform tonight,” he went on, spooning up more of the devilish dessert, “about making things fair. Was that a lie, or one of your convenient poses? Or are you serious about taking the side of the downtrodden?”Besha was nearly finished with his own crème. “Dunno,” he said, mouth full. “I mean, it made sense to me at the time, I guess. You’re the one who likes to quote Whyberg; I leave that stuff to other people. System’s definitely unfair, but it’s worse when it’s unfair to me, you know?”Gersha was amused despite himself—or maybe that was the brandy taking effect. “So, as long as reform makes things better for you, you’re for it? What an excellent attitude for a public servant.”“I don’t have idea intelligence, remember? I have social intelligence.”“Yes. And the intelligence to run a sizable criminal operation.” Still troubled by Davita’s story, Gersha hadn’t wanted to touch the subject, but the damned brandy was making everything seem unreal.“Oh yes, that shocked your delicate sensibilities, didn’t it?” Besha jabbed the air with his spoon. “Davita knew it would, too. She wanted to needle you.”“I don’t understand why she’s not more bothered.” He knew he sounded prim, but verdant hells, a Councillor with a past like that!Besha’s knee nudged his under the table. “Do you really think I’m the only ‘public servant’ who’s ever taken advantage of a dead-end posting to make a little personal profit?”“No.” Gersha thought of Supervisor Fernei in Thurskein, and of the Upstart Admins who’d slipped him Harbourer goods in return for the company of the young people he’d bribed or forced into prostitution. “But that doesn’t make it right. Especially selling weapons.”“I drew the line at anything lethal, okay?” Besha gulped down the rest of his brandy. “I’m not one of those Hargists trying to sow chaos, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just . . . well, I hate seeing good equipment gathering dust when somebody could be profiting from it, you know? It kills me. I like figuring out how to make things useful.”“The profit motive was the downfall of the Tangle,” Gersha said sternly. For all the Tangle books he’d read, he’d never clearly understood the meaning of the term “profit motive” or why Whyberg found it so offensive. Something to do with profits being maximizable, unlike an Oslov ration level. But Besha clearly had an excellent handle on it.“Sheesh, no more of those damned quotes. I can’t take it.” Besha’s knee nudged Gersha’s again, and this time it stayed there. “I knew that story freaked you out; that’s why I wanted to talk. You’re not going to turn me in or anything, are you?”I probably should. But right now Gersha didn’t even have the strength to repel the warm pressure of Besha’s calf against his. “No,” he said, looking into his colleague’s canny blue eyes. “I’ve simply figured out a different way to make you useful.”“That’s the spirit!” Besha laughed full-throatedly, and Gersha wasn’t sure if he was relieved or repelled. “You’re the idea man, and I don’t mind being used as long as I benefit. And if the user is someone I like.”His calf nuzzled against Gersha’s a little more intimately, and now Gersha did withdraw his. “Not without Tilrey here,” he murmured, knowing Besha would understand.“Do you think he’d like to watch while I take you?” Besha asked in the same low tone. “Because we haven’t done that yet.”Blood flushed Gersha’s face, but the mental image was surprisingly . . . all right. “You should be so lucky.” And then, because the brandy was making him stupid, he added, “Do you actually like me?”Besha laughed again, so crowingly that a pasty young couple across the room turned to look. “Ha! I knew I’d melt you eventually. Just a little. I like you when you’re not such a damnable prig.”“Is that why you betrayed me at school? Because I was a prig?” He was just letting it all out tonight, wasn’t he?Besha screwed up his face, as if consulting his lifetime mental list of betrayals. “Oh, that. You were sore about that? I mean, everybody’s always throwing everybody over at school, and anyway, you never even seemed to like me.”“We were friends—I thought.” But then Gersha remembered how locked-down he’d been for most of his life, presenting a proper face to the world and burying his feelings deep beneath. No wonder he’d had no real friends but Ranek, who seemed to understand him intuitively.Ranek. He needed to get back and check on the results of the worm he’d put in the Int/Sec database, but not just yet.“Maybe we just have different ways of expressing affection,” he said, feeling his reproach turn to gentle mockery. “You, for instance, seem to think you can endear yourself to me by being a pain in the ass.”Besha grinned widely. “Well, Davita likes me when I’m naughty.”“Yes, clearly. And you like it when she scolds you, don’t you?”“Now you know all my secrets. Congratulations are in order.” Besha sprang to his feet and summoned the server. “Over here, lad! Another round.”

A server in a white coverall sidled up. Besha made two orders that sounded to Gersha like nonsense words, then asked, “You?”

“Nothing, thanks.” He kept his face severe, reminding Besha he’d come here to be polite and not because he wanted any more of the man’s company.

“We need to talk,” Besha had insisted as they left Davita’s. Gersha had been too exhausted from the acrimonious tea party, and too preoccupied by wrenching thoughts of what he’d left Tilrey to, to say no.

“Don’t be silly, you barely ate before. Get him the same,” Besha said, and waved the server away.

“You’re going to love this brandy they have.” Besha sprawled forward on his elbows, onto Gersha’s side of the table. The man looked remarkably happy and punchy, Gersha thought, for someone who had just been systematically humiliated by his spouse, had his ugly past exposed to a colleague, and thrown a fit over all of it.

“It’s made from Bettevy apples, and you can practically taste the autumn and the orchard in it. An ‘orchard’ is a bunch of fruit-bearing trees—but you probably know that. What’s wrong?” Besha added, as if finally registering Gersha’s glumness.

Gersha gazed through the curved glass at the block of last-century façades, all tall windows and fanciful stone cornices, their neat angles permanently smudged with snow. “What’s wrong with me? Why are you so chipper suddenly? I’m starting to think that if I were married to you, I’d treat you like a child, too.”

“Perish the thought.” Besha patted Gersha’s hand, chuckling; Gersha tensed. “What can I say? I always feel better after I’ve let it rip a little, and Davita understands that.”

“You mean that kind of thing . . . happens often?” Gersha couldn’t imagine squabbling with Tilrey that way. The few disagreements they’d had involved staying aloof from each other for a few hours or days, followed by mutual apologies and reconciliation in bed.

“Well, I don’t usually get so political. That was to explain my vote, so she doesn’t get suspicious.” Besha had lowered his voice. “You’re not really worried about her with Rishka, are you? He can take care of himself.”

Gersha inched away from those too-keen eyes. “Yes. He can always take care of himself in the moment, but after . . . do you know he has nightmares?”

It was a private thing to mention, but then, the three of them had shared a bed for a full night. Sooner or later, Besha was likely to witness those nightmares for himself. He might as well know that even Tilrey’s resilience had limits.

“Nightmares?” Besha looked puzzled, but a radiant smile took over his face as the server deposited two small crystal glasses and two saucers on the table. “Ah, the crème brûlée. You haven’t lived till you’ve eaten this. Gersha, I insist.”

The stuff in the saucer looked vaguely like rice pudding, but smoother and with a perversely burnt top. Gersha shattered the caramelization with his spoon, picked up some of the yellowy-white fat, and gingerly inserted it in his mouth.

Sweetness exploded on his tongue, lighting up the pleasure centers of his brain in a hectic way that reminded him alarmingly of an orgasm. “That’s actual dairy that had to be flown here in a refrigerated container, and way more sugar than anyone should consume in a single serving,” he said accusingly, and took a second bite.

“I know.” Besha dug in gleefully. “That’s the point!” He sipped his brandy, his expression clouding again. “You don’t mean he has nightmares about stuff I did to him, do you?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Gersha tried a tiny sip of the brandy, which was sweet as well as heady. He might not sleep tonight, but then, that was already a foregone conclusion. “I don’t quiz him on what he dreams about. I just hold him till it’s over. But you should know he’s not something you can use and break.”

“Me, use him?” Besha stared wide-eyed. “This whole thing with Davita was Tilrey’s idea. He said he could bring her around, and I said, ‘Be my guest, you’re welcome to try.’”

Gersha was neither surprised nor reassured. He took another small swallow, feeling warmth spread through his chest. If sapping was like being led by a soft, maternal hand down into a warm labyrinth that muffled all sounds and sensations, drinking alcohol was more like being set on fire. How did Harbourers bear all this stimulation?

“I hope you gave him some guidance, at least,” he said.

“Of course!” Besha chuckled. “I told him things way too intimate for your tender ears. There are things only us whores understand.”

Gersha remembered how Besha had called himself a “fuck-piece” earlier. “Don’t be absurd. You can’t understand what it’s like to be treated the way he’s been treated, any more than I can. All the stuff you said about reform tonight,” he went on, spooning up more of the devilish dessert, “about making things fair. Was that a lie, or one of your convenient poses? Or are you serious about taking the side of the downtrodden?”

Besha was nearly finished with his own crème. “Dunno,” he said, mouth full. “I mean, it made sense to me at the time, I guess. You’re the one who likes to quote Whyberg; I leave that stuff to other people. System’s definitely unfair, but it’s worse when it’s unfair to me, you know?”

Gersha was amused despite himself—or maybe that was the brandy taking effect. “So, as long as reform makes things better for you, you’re for it? What an excellent attitude for a public servant.”

“I don’t have idea intelligence, remember? I have social intelligence.”

“Yes. And the intelligence to run a sizable criminal operation.” Still troubled by Davita’s story, Gersha hadn’t wanted to touch the subject, but the damned brandy was making everything seem unreal.

“Oh yes, that shocked your delicate sensibilities, didn’t it?” Besha jabbed the air with his spoon. “Davita knew it would, too. She wanted to needle you.”

“I don’t understand why she’s not more bothered.” He knew he sounded prim, but verdant hells, a Councillor with a past like that!

Besha’s knee nudged his under the table. “Do you really think I’m the only ‘public servant’ who’s ever taken advantage of a dead-end posting to make a little personal profit?”

“No.” Gersha thought of Supervisor Fernei in Thurskein, and of the Upstart Admins who’d slipped him Harbourer goods in return for the company of the young people he’d bribed or forced into prostitution. “But that doesn’t make it right. Especially selling weapons.”

“I drew the line at anything lethal, okay?” Besha gulped down the rest of his brandy. “I’m not one of those Hargists trying to sow chaos, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just . . . well, I hate seeing good equipment gathering dust when somebody could be profiting from it, you know? It kills me. I like figuring out how to make things useful.”

“The profit motive was the downfall of the Tangle,” Gersha said sternly. For all the Tangle books he’d read, he’d never clearly understood the meaning of the term “profit motive” or why Whyberg found it so offensive. Something to do with profits being maximizable, unlike an Oslov ration level. But Besha clearly had an excellent handle on it.

“Sheesh, no more of those damned quotes. I can’t take it.” Besha’s knee nudged Gersha’s again, and this time it stayed there. “I knew that story freaked you out; that’s why I wanted to talk. You’re not going to turn me in or anything, are you?”

I probably should. But right now Gersha didn’t even have the strength to repel the warm pressure of Besha’s calf against his. “No,” he said, looking into his colleague’s canny blue eyes. “I’ve simply figured out a different way to make you useful.”

“That’s the spirit!” Besha laughed full-throatedly, and Gersha wasn’t sure if he was relieved or repelled. “You’re the idea man, and I don’t mind being used as long as I benefit. And if the user is someone I like.”

His calf nuzzled against Gersha’s a little more intimately, and now Gersha did withdraw his. “Not without Tilrey here,” he murmured, knowing Besha would understand.

“Do you think he’d like to watch while I take you?” Besha asked in the same low tone. “Because we haven’t done that yet.”

Blood flushed Gersha’s face, but the mental image was surprisingly . . . all right. “You should be so lucky.” And then, because the brandy was making him stupid, he added, “Do you actually like me?”

Besha laughed again, so crowingly that a pasty young couple across the room turned to look. “Ha! I knew I’d melt you eventually. Just a little. I like you when you’re not such a damnable prig.”

“Is that why you betrayed me at school? Because I was a prig?” He was just letting it all out tonight, wasn’t he?

Besha screwed up his face, as if consulting his lifetime mental list of betrayals. “Oh, that. You were sore about that? I mean, everybody’s always throwing everybody over at school, and anyway, you never even seemed to like me.”

“We were friends—I thought.” But then Gersha remembered how locked-down he’d been for most of his life, presenting a proper face to the world and burying his feelings deep beneath. No wonder he’d had no real friends but Ranek, who seemed to understand him intuitively.

Ranek. He needed to get back and check on the results of the worm he’d put in the Int/Sec database, but not just yet.

“Maybe we just have different ways of expressing affection,” he said, feeling his reproach turn to gentle mockery. “You, for instance, seem to think you can endear yourself to me by being a pain in the ass.”

Besha grinned widely. “Well, Davita likes me when I’m naughty.”

“Yes, clearly. And you like it when she scolds you, don’t you?”

“Now you know all my secrets. Congratulations are in order.” Besha sprang to his feet and summoned the server. “Over here, lad! Another round.”