Part 2 Chapter 6

CHAPTER 15

 

 

D

espite praying to the Twelve in a temple for her son, Moira doesn’t feel much better. She did after leaving the temple, believing that her prayers were to be answered, but the sight of the storm clouds in the distance changed that. To her the clouds were a kind of sign or omen; telling her something was wrong. Though she doesn’t know for sure she feels confident that whatever is wrong it has something to do with Olraym. Storm clouds appearing so soon after he leaves are just too much to be a coincidence.

  Over the next several hours as the storm approaches Tov’ra Moira prays to the Twelve whenever possible: silently in a temple or loudly in her room. When the storm finally does reach Tov’ra her prayers to the Twelve are sometimes interrupted mid-sentence by thunder strikes. Though, she notices, that they are sometimes punctuated by them.

  In the dark early morning hours (she can’t tell exactly when, the dark clouds are completely blocking the moonlight and stars) she finally gives up. She still feels that something bad is going to happen or may already be happening but concedes that another prayer will do no good and dresses for bed. While lying down, her eyes closed, trying to sleep she unconsciously reaches out to the empty side of the bed, Gremborlin’s side. When she finds it empty she opens her eyes. She looks around scared: scared of the storm that is interrupting her present thoughts, scared for her missing husband. It is as if she doesn’t remember the last few days. Then, finally, she remembers why it is empty and some of her fears are alleviated, replaced with sadness. But the storm above her still forces fear to be felt.

  The next morning she wakes, she doesn’t remember when or how she got to sleep but judging how heavy her eyes feel it wasn’t that long ago. She gets out of bed and dresses.

  When she finishes dressing she decides that mourning over Gremborlin, being afraid of living without him, must end soon. She must find strength.

  As she leaves her room she thinks of what to do now. Tov’ra has no king, not until Olraym returns whenever that is, and everyone will be wondering what is to happen until then. The question of her governing the city has an easy answer, she would have to. It is an easy though for her since she has been doing it since Gremborlin was sick.

  One thing she doesn’t want is to have everyone in Tov’ra knowing about Olraym’s disappearance. No one who governs with her would want them to know. They would want it secret, worry is not something Moira wants to see displayed of such magnitude.  She and others would have to act fast or panic will occur in the streets and it might get violent before long.

  Moira’s first stop is to Bevil, knowing as she does that he is the best person to help her with this. When she gets there she finds he isn’t in his office, she is disappointed but not surprised given how early in the day it is. She thinks of places he might be: his home, a favoured tavern. He could be anywhere.

  Then it comes to her so quickly she first thinks she is wrong. But the more she considers it the more plausible it becomes. It is one of his favourite past-times though only a handful of people know of it. Moira discovered it about a decade ago and told Gremborlin about it. He was as shocked as she was and immediately went to find Bevil. She doesn’t know exactly what was said between them but by the way they acted around each other for the following week it was not good. She believes that Thorne and Sertia know of Bevil’s past-time but she isn’t sure of Olraym.

  Bevil is of course in a nearby brothel.

  She doesn’t know why he goes there or why he is accepted inside given his age, but she guesses they accept all with money and he goes in for the youthful bodies around him.

  She begrudgingly heads out of the castle knowing full well which brothel he is in, the Fair Maiden. She doesn’t want to be right, a part of her wants nothing more than to be proven wrong and go somewhere else to find him, but she feels it: she is right.

  When she gets there she can tell that the Fair Maiden has customers even though it is morning. She can hear moaning and grunting from both a man and a woman coming from a second-floor open window. The sounds and the act they represent don’t disgust her but the fact that it is so public and loud, and so faked by the woman, does. Although it looks small from the front it is actually large taking up lots of space in the street.

  With that look of disgust she enters the brothel; she doesn’t care to hide her face, what others say about her is not her problem as far as she is concerned. They can say what they like. Although the fact that she is a grieving widow might slow down the spread of rumours.

  Inside she finds her disgust justified. The door opens up to a wide room with couches coloured shades of red and pink set with small tables. There is a sweet smell, most likely from flower that is mixed in with the smell of sex. This gives off the sense that this brothel isn’t as old as it actually is while still letting everyone know what is going on inside.

  The small widows and the candles in the room create what Moira assumes is an attempt at romantic lighting, but it seems to fail at that, it just makes the room dark and hard to see in detail.

  There are three doors including the one Moira just entered through, the second door is just to her right, it has a large reception table next to it. Moira knows that this door leads to the owner’s office.

  Though the reception desk is large it is practically empty: there is only a quill on the far side, a thick book with a brown leather cover (obviously to keep records) facing the reception’s simple chair and a small pot with a purple flower on the top left corner. Moira wonders why a flower is in a place so dark even with light from a nearby window hitting it. In Moira’s opinion the flower and its’ pot is there just to fill the table.

  Though it is dark Moira can clearly see what she believes to be a receptionist sitting at the desk. From what Moira can see she is a young woman of incredible beauty: a slender figure, high cheek bones, and wavy blond hair. She is wearing what Moira thinks to be a bright pink almost white silk dress, just enough to cover herself and let everyone know she isn’t on the menu. At the sight of her the receptionist stands at attention looking shocked. Moira strides over to her, her imposing movements make the receptionist sit back down and lean back, as if trying to back away.

  “Where is your mistress?” Moira asks in an equally imposing tone. The receptionist woman looks up at her with giant beady fearful eyes and, without looking away, points to the door next to her. Moira nods and walks to it with the woman’s eyes following her. Moira knocks on the door and opens it and enters without invitation.

  Inside is more of the sweet smell and less of the other which makes Moira feel a little better about being there. The room is long and narrow; there is a large window at the back letting in better morning light than those in the other room, the walls are bare of any decoration and are a dull colour, there is a table similar to the reception desk outside propped again the left wall ahead of her. This desk is cluttered: stacks of books that convey the age of the Fair Maiden more than anything else, pouches filled with coin (payment for services) and even a few pictures of the girls given by wealthy men.

  Sitting at this desk is another blond woman; though the desk is running parallel to the wall the woman has her back to her. Moira hears scratching which is interrupted when the woman turns to face her. The first thing Moira notices is the scratching was actually the woman writing something on some paper and the second is that this woman is almost a spitting image of the receptionist. She looks behind her thinking she must be wrong to find the receptionist has followed her in. In the shock she looks back and forth between the two; the receptionist is younger and shorter, but other than that they could be twins.

  “My Lady…is there something we can do for you?” asks the older one, obviously the owner of the Fair Maiden. She doesn’t sound surprised or appear surprised as she looks at Moira though she seems to forget about whatever she was writing. Moira looks back and forth between them some more, before finally she rests on the older one.

  “What are your names?” she asks them, confusing the youngest but not the oldest. For a moment the young one looks as if she is going to answer but she cannot seem to find the force necessary to do so. Moira makes a gesture of impatience which seems to help her along.

  “My name is Miantha,” says the oldest before the young one can answer, and then gestures to the young receptionist, “and this is my sister Dow.” They both give an impromptu bow. So I am right. Moira wonders who gave them this brothel. Their father, or possibly, mother? She thinks of this for only a second before she stops and concentrates on the matter at hand.

  When they straighten Miantha looks at Moira as if expecting for her to continue, but she seems not to care. Moira hates her rudeness but says nothing, not wanting to stay any more than necessary.

  “I am here for Bevil,” says Moira, not bothering to ask whether he is here as if she doesn’t know. Miantha smiles and nods to Dow, who walks back to her desk, Moira can hear the sound of pages turning so she knows that Dow is looking though her book. In moments the sounds stop and Dow re-enters, she looks a little more self-assured than when she left which tells Moira she has good news.

  “He is with Isursa,” it comes out in a matter-of-fact tone. Miantha’s smile changes, as if she knows something about this Isursa that she thinks might distress Moira.

  “Oh she is very popular,” she squeezes between Moira and then Dow and walks out, then stops and turns back to them, “shall we?”

  Feeling mistrustful of Miantha, she nods and slowly follows the sisters out of the office and though the third door at the far side of the room.  Inside is a hall, bare but for a few paintings and a few flowers. Every few feet there is a doorway with no door. Instead the doorways are covered with a set of pink curtains that just barely give a sense of privacy. The sounds Moira heard outside that disgusts Moira so suddenly grow in volume and intensity only this time it seems to be coming only from a woman. The three walk along the hall, Moira gives quick glances into the rooms but doesn’t slow down. Though she notices the nearly naked women and occasional men within them she is more curious about the look of the rooms.

  The rooms are large with plenty of space; most of which is filled with the overly large four-poster bed and colourful rugs and a few chairs placed around in a way that suggests that they don’t care where they go. These rooms succeed much better in romantic lighting with the well placed windows and scented candles. The bright sunlight seems to direct itself to go only to the beds themselves.

  The three stop at the third doorway, the middle doorway, to the right. Miantha and Dow turn to face Moira and with a welcoming smile that hides malice underneath Miantha gestures inside. Moira hesitates for a moment then looks in. 

  Though the curtains create a kind of haze over what she is seeing it is still pretty clear. Inside the room is similar to the rest aside from the patterns and colours on the rugs and position of the chairs, but none of that matters to Moira. What does matter is that there are two figures on the bed. The male figure, Bevil, is naked and lying flat on the bed while the female figure, Isursa she guesses, is on top of him, also naked. Bevil’s eyes are closed in a look of pleasure while the woman’s eyes are open and focused on him. 

  Moira slowly enters, pushing the curtains at the entrance out of her way, and walks to the foot of the bed.  She hears footsteps behind and knows without looking that Miantha is following her. She doesn’t stop to confront her on why, feels that since this is her establishment that she can do as she likes and that it doesn’t matter what Miantha or her sister Dow does just as long as they don’t interfere.

   Isursa is just what Moira expects in a place like the Fair Maiden: thin, curvy, attractive in an obvious way, though her dark red hair is strange since it is so long. It is bunched up at the moment but Moira guesses it would touch the floor even if she is standing.

  Neither Bevil nor Isursa notice them at first, but a creak from one of Moira’s footfalls lets them know that the two are not alone. Isursa turns and, at the sight of Moira and the sisters, screams, jumps off Bevil to the other side of the bed and covers herself with the bed sheets.

  Bevil does much the same when he opens his eyes, except his screams aren’t as loud and he doesn’t jump around the room. Moira may know about his habits but he wasn’t aware of that knowledge, until now. Bevil and Isursa stare at the three scared of what to do. It is obvious to Moira that Bevil is thinking of putting his clothes on but his trepidation is because his clothes are on the other side of the room.

  Moira hears a chuckle from behind her and this time she does turn around and glowers at Miantha. Miantha immediately looks away but she doesn’t look embarrassed, in fact she looks pleased.

  “Leave us,” orders Moira, looking from Isursa, to Dow then finally to Miantha. Dow leaves instantly and without attempting to cover herself so does Isursa, both giving an apologetic look her way. Miantha however is still for a moment; taking in all the pleasure she can from the sight before her.

  With the two of them alone Moira stares blankly at Bevil as she closes the gap on him, Bevil looks like he might back away at any moment but doesn’t.

  “Your Ladyship I wasn’t aware of your presence,” he stutters out as he thinks of a plausible excuse to his presence in this brothel.

  “Get dressed.”

  “Why?”

  “So you and I can leave hear and start preparing.” Bevil nods and, after hesitating a moment as if ashamed of his nakedness around her, he walks to his clothes with the bed sheet covering what little it can of him, he drops it suddenly which makes Moira turn from him and he is about to put them on when he stops and looks back at her. “Preparing?” he asks, as if now just realizing what she said, then finally does start dressing.

  “Yes, for the possibility that my son Olraym may not return.”

  This makes him stop again midway through putting his shirt on.