They were all old. More than half of them had once worked for her. She had
watched them age in the unkind manner that often overtakes youthful beauty and
transforms it into grotes-querie. Myrtis might have been the youngest of them
young enough to be working in the houses instead of running one of them. But
when she turned from the window to face them, there was the unmistakable glint
of experience and wisdom in her eyes.
‘Well, it wasn’t really a surprise,’ she began. It was rumoured before Kittycat
got here, and we’ve seen what has happened to the others the Hell Hounds have
been turned loose on. I admit I’d hoped that some of the others would have held
their ground better and given us a bit more time.’
‘Time wouldn’t help. I don’t have a hundred gold pieces to give them!’ A woman
whose white-paste make-up cracked around her eyes as she spoke interrupted
Myrtis.
‘You don’t need a hundred gold pieces!’ A similarly made-up woman snarled back.
‘The gold is unimportant.’ Myrtis’s voice rose above the bickering. ‘If they can
break one of us, they can drive us all out.’
‘We could close our doors; then they’d suffer. Half of my men are from Ranke.’
‘Half of all our men are, Gelicia. They won the war and they’ve got the money,’
Myrtis countered. ‘But they’ll kowtow to the Hell Hounds, Kittycat, and their
wives. The men of Ranke are very ambitious. They’ll give up much to preserve
their wealth and positions. If the prince is officially frowning on the Street,
their loyalties will be less strained if we have closed our doors without