‘Madame?’
Ambutta’s child-serious face appeared in the doorway moments after the butcher
had left. Her ragged dress had already been replaced with one of a more mature
cut, brighter colour, and new cloth.
‘Amoli waits to speak with you. She is in the kitchen now. Shall I send her up?’
‘Yes, bring her up.’
Myrtis sighed after Ambutta left. Amoli was her only rival on the Street. She
was a woman who had not learned her trade in the upper rooms of the Aphrodisia,
and also one who kept her girls working for her through their addiction to krrf,
which she supplied to them. If anyone on the Street was nervous about the tax,
though, it was Amoli; she had very little gold to spare. The smugglers had
recently been forced by the same Hell Hounds to raise the price of a well
refined brick of the drug to maintain their own profits.
‘Amoli, good woman, you look exhausted.’
Myrtis assisted a woman less than a third her age to the love-seat.
‘May I get you something to drink?’
‘Qualis, if you have any.’ Amoli paused while Myrtis passed the request along to
Ambutta. ‘I can’t do it, Myrtis – this whole scheme of yours is impossible. It
will ruin me!’
The liqueur arrived. Ambutta carried a finely wrought silver tray with one glass
of the deep red liquid. Amoli’s hands shook violently as she grasped the glass
and emptied it in one gulp. Ambutta looked sagely to her mistress; the other
madam was, perhaps, victim of the same addiction as her girls?
‘I’ve been approached by Jubal. For a small fee, he will send his men up here