Page 58 of City of Stone and Silence

“I doubt it,” he says, as though he hadn’t considered that possibility. “Not dressed like this.”

“Try to keep your head down,” I tell him. “We just need to see Thul and get out again.”

“And then I get that statue,” Nouya says, pathetically eager. I manage a nod.

He leads us right up to the front door. A man in a dark, fashionably cut robe bars our way, looking me and Garo over.

“Staff entrance,” he says. “Around the side. You’re late, but we’re overbooked—”

“They’re not working,” Nouya says. “I’m Stashi Nouya. From Gleamon’s group? They want to see Thul.”

“They want to see Thul,” the doorman responds, deadpan.

Nouya nods, happily.

“And who are they?” he says, turning to me.

“I’m Gelmei Tori,” I tell him, emphasizing the family name. Sure enough, there’s a flicker of recognition. “This is my man Garo.”

“I see.” The doorman sighs. “Wait here for a moment.”

He disappears through the doors. Nouya grins at me. Garo eyes the guards.

“I don’t like this,” he says.

Tell me about it. The Black Flower looks like a cancerous growth on the ward wall, a poisonous blossom. But Isoka needs me.

The doorman returns, with a particularly large bouncer looming behind him. I tense, and I can feel Garo straighten up beside me.

“Master Thul says he’s willing to see Miss Gelmei, in deference to her sister’s long service,” he says, sourly. “However.”

He inclines his head, and the bruiser steps forward. Nouya barely has time to look surprised before a huge fist slams into his face. I hear his nose break with a crunch, and blood sprays everywhere. He staggers back a step and sinks to his knees, and the bouncer buries a heavy boot in his midsection. The pawnbroker collapses, curled up on himself and whimpering.

“Master Nouya, he is displeased by your lack of discretion,” the doorman says. “You may consider your services to Master Thul at an end.”

I look down at the gasping, wretching Nouya. It’s not like he’ll be harmed permanently …

“Come on,” the doorman snaps at me. “Master Thul doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

The interior of the Black Flower is nicer than the ramshackle façade, at least on the surface. We enter a great hall, done up Jyashtani-style with a stone floor, deep carpets, and flowing hangings along the walls. It looks like a picture of exotic luxury, but living in the Second Ward has taught me a little about what true luxury looks like. It doesn’t take much effort to see the frayed edges here: carpets with threadbare spots, cheap dyed linen hangings instead of silk, gaudy plaster sculptures along the walls instead of real ones.

Most of the customers don’t seem to care. The hall is full of people, the women in colorful kizen, the men in looser, blander styles, but all in cuts and fabrics speaking of wealth and status. They gather in small groups, talking and laughing, supplied with drink by circulating flunkies in black. Other employees speak with the customers in low voices, and then disappear through side doors.

“That’s Min,” Garo says, a note of surprise in his voice. “Garuka Minio.” He indicates a tall girl in her late teens, elegant in an expertly tailored deep crimson kizen. “I know her from our family temple.”

The girl is a head taller than me, and beautiful by any standard, perfect painted lips, powdered skin, and a woman’s body. I try not to think about the contrast I make, in my laborer’s trousers and with my hair pushed up. Garo’s eyes follow her as we skirt the edge of the room.

“Don’t let her see you,” I mutter.

“I know.” Garo looks at the floor. “I’ve known her since we were kids. What’s she doing here?”

“At this place? My guess would be either rutting or losing her father’s money.” I risk a glance in the noblewoman’s direction, and catch one of the handlers emerging from a side door with a young man and a girl, both in loose robes. Minio gives the pair a once-over, nods decisively, and follows them out of the hall. In spite of myself, I feel a stab of satisfaction. “Definitely rutting.”

“She—” Garo’s mouth snaps shut. “This is a brothel.”

“Obviously,” I say. “Though there’s gambling, too, and probably narcotics. Where did you think we were going?”

“I just…” He looks down at me. “You shouldn’t be here.”