Chapter Three
Now well over the fifteen thousand word limit. Aiming for 5 thousand a chapter seems to be a good way of pacing things and making sure I don't rush things and miss bits out. Much happier with the dialogue this time. This next chapter also has burlesque girls and violence. Enjoy.
When Milo awoke the next morning a fire had been lit in his room, but it was still early. Outside the sky was a steely grey that implied dawn had not long broken. Listening, he could hear no noise outside his room; the house was still and quiet. He decided to get up now, rather than waiting for a summons. He dressed quickly then pushed the dividing door open quietly. Tobin was still fast asleep; curled up around his pillow and snoring gently.
He was unsure of the layout of most of the house still so headed down to the ballroom. The tables from the previous night had been moved away and now it was just an empty expanse of marble floor-tiles. There was no fireplace and even with the velvet curtains pulled over the large windows it felt unpleasantly cold. A sudden sense of loneliness washed over Milo. In that silent, empty room, it was easy to believe he was the only one alive in the entire house.
Not wanting to remain in the room any longer, he turned and headed back the way he had come. He decided that, as his brother had woken him in the night, it was time to return the favour. The rest of him, the house would be getting up soon anyway, he told himself. Tobin would not thank him if he was left to oversleep.
“Good morning.”
Milo jumped and tuned to see Felicity walking towards him. It seemed that ability to walk silently was a trait that was passed down in the earl's family.
“Good morning. You're up early.”
She smiled. “I might say the same about you. I've always been a light sleeper. What's your excuse?”
“I'm not normally up at this hour. I guess it's just the first night in a strange bed.”
“Where's your brother, still asleep? I didn't see much of him yesterday; I hope everything is okay.”
“I'm a little worried about him,” Milo admitted. “He hasn't been well recently and last night...” He stopped, unsure whether he should be repeating any of Tobin's conversation from last night. He decided to continue, knowing his brother was unlike to say anything himself, and told Felicity what Tobin had overheard at the party. He was relieved when Felicity looked shocked.
“That's terrible! Don't worry; I shall speak to my father: she will not be welcome back for a while.” She lowered her voice. “I'll be honest, I never liked her much. I shan't miss seeing her.”
Milo smiled. “Thank you.” They walked up the staircase together towards the bedrooms.
“Did you have any plans for today?” Felicity enquired.
“I thought we would go and have a look around the city. I ought to do something to cheer Tobin up, so that probably means we'll end up spending the day in the library or watching trains come into the station. Not really my idea of a good time, but I want to show him that there are good things here as well.”
“That's sweet. You're a good brother.”
Milo grinned. “I'm sure he could tell you plenty of tales to contradict that idea. Shana too, if she were here: we were always playing pranks on her. But because there were only ever the three of us we couldn't stay mad at each other for very long.”
They had reached the bedrooms now. Milo left Felicity outside and knocked on his brother's door. Inside he found Tobin awake, dressed and just tying back his hair.
“Ah, you are awake. Did you manage to get much sleep in the end?”
“A bit,” he replied, checking his reflection in the mirror. Milo felt slightly relieved: if his brother was worried about his appearance, then he was obviously feeling more himself this morning. He had always found Tobin's vanity quite amusing, especially in contrast with the rest of his personality. Satisfied, Tobin turned round. “Thanks, for last night.”
“It was nothing. I just wish you'd talked to me sooner.”
They stepped out into the hallway, where Felicity was waiting patiently. Morning pleasantries were exchanged; Milo watched his brother closely. He suspected Tobin still harboured suspicions about the earl's behaviour, but if he held the same opinions about Felicity it was not evident from his behaviour. As they walked down to breakfast, Felicity turned to Tobin.
“Do you still play piano, Tobin? My father has just acquired a new one; you'd be welcome to use it if you liked.”
He shook his head. “Thank you, but I haven't played in years. I'd be terribly out of practice now.”
Milo could remember poignantly the last time that Tobin had played the piano. The year before Shana had left for the academy, he had been teaching her how to play the instrument. She had not been particularly good at it, but better at least than she was at singing, and under Tobin's patient tutorage she had become at least proficient. It was not unusual on a wet afternoon to hear them playing together for several hours at a time.
When she went to the academy the piano sessions became less frequent, and never the same pieces he had played with Shana, until the day of her funeral. They had come back from the service, all three of them angry, grieving and silent. Tobin had gone straight to the piano and played through everything he and Shana had learnt. Hearing all those familiar tunes with half the notes missing had expressed all the sentiments they had not been able to say in words. Then, almost three hours later, he had closed the lid and no one had touched the piano since.
Felicity must have sensed there was something deeper behind his answer as she did not push the matter further. Instead they walked on in silence to the dining room where the earl was sat waiting for them. Clearly the family rose early in this household, Milo thought. Before taking his place at the table Tobin went and spoke directly to the earl. Although he could not hear the words spoken, Milo guessed he was apologising for disappearing last night.
As they ate, Milo explained his plan to explore the city. The earl had no objection to the idea and even offered to put his coach at their disposal. Milo invited Felicity to join them, but she excused herself. Whether this was because she thought she was being helpful, or whether it was simply that she did not fancy the day's activities he was not sure. Either way, he felt both glad and disappointed at the same time.
They set out immediately after breakfast. The waiting coach took them away from the house and down the gentle hill to the gardens they had passed through yesterday. It stopped by a small, shallow river near a set of iron gates that bore the legend “Queens Park” and it was agreed that they would meet back here at five that afternoon. Peterson pointed out the path that ran along side the river and explained that was the way to the city centre.
It was still relatively early and they were the only ones walking along the path. Beside them, the shallow river babbled quietly while small fish flitted between the water plants. On the other side were neat beds where the last flowers of the year were blooming. A couple of squirrels chased each other up a tree in the distance. They walked until the little river joined up with the much larger one that flowed through the city and crossing a bridge found themselves in a plaza in front of a large church with a large spire that reached towards the sky.
As they made their way past the church the streets started to get busier. They soon found themselves on the main road that led past the station. Unlike Blackwater, where they would be acknowledged with a nod or comment, people pushed past them, giving them no regard. Milo found the sensation of being single face in a sea of uncaring others quite unsettling; he was not used to being ignored. He turned to Tobin to see if his brother felt the same and found he was nowhere in sight.
Panicked, Milo looked around wildly but everyone around him was a stranger. He called his brother's name loudly, and then felt embarrassed as people turned and stared.
“That him?”
Milo turned in surprise to see an old man sat by a fruit stall looking at him. He was pointing with his cane and as Milo followed his direction he saw a familiar figure standing on the footbridge over the railway line.
“Yes, thank you.” He turned to catch up with Tobin, but the man stopped him.
“I've done you a favour, seems only fair you do the same for me,” he commented, looking pointedly at the stall.
With an inward sigh, Milo purchased a couple of apples and hurried over to the bridge. He cuffed his brother on the back of his head.
“Disappear like that again and I'll put a leash on you,” he growled.
Tobin gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I thought you were following me,” he said, rubbing his head.
Milo rolled his eyes but said nothing. He handed Tobin one of the apples and they stood on the bridging eating the fruit and watching a train making its way out of the station and on its way north. The air was heavy with the scent of coal smoke and oil, smells that Milo found quite unpleasant but he remembered the day's greater purpose and waited patiently until the train was out of sight.
Once it was gone he decided that was enough and led the way over the bridge before another train could appear. They found themselves in a large street with tall shops either side. The next few hours were quickly filled up investigating them and it was only when Milo realised how hungry he was that he realised how late it had got. They stopped and had lunch in the restaurant of the Grand hotel, a towering building overlooking the serpentine river. Milo had never eaten in a restaurant before, and he decided he greatly enjoyed the experience. The food was much better than anything he had ever tried at home and he found the dignified atmosphere, the implacable waiters and shining silverware all very agreeable.
"Still think it was a bad idea to come to the city?" He asked Tobin as the waiter brought their dessert.
"No," his brother mumbled over a mouthful of peaches and sponge cake. "No, I guess not."
"You could admit you were wrong slightly more graciously," Milo replied with a grin. "What shall we do this afternoon?"
"We could find the library," Tobin suggested hopefully.
"I should have guessed you would say that. Okay, I'm sure we can look for it at least."
"It holds copy of every book ever published in this country. No more waiting for the book I want to be found and delivered to the local library."
"See? The big city does have some advantages."
They finished eating and left the restaurant, heading back out onto the streets. Walking along the bank of the river away from the shops they came to the large plaza and the grand court building Milo had seen from the coach the previous day. Beyond that were several other large buildings, one of which turned out to be the library. On the other side of the river they could see a large gated complex with several structures that Tobin thought was probably the university. Past the university was the industrial sector, with warehouses and factories backing onto the water and on the other side of them, where the river reached the sea, were the dockyards.
After they had walked around the area for a while and Milo was satisfied he had seen enough for the day they returned to the library. It was a low, stone building, suggesting that it had not always been a library; shared repositories for books were a reasonably new concept on Tobermoerai. While the sorceresses still had final say over whether a new book could be printed, the number of publishing houses was increasing, as was the number of people in the population who could read. Access to the libraries was strictly controlled but theoretically anyone could use them if they found a suitable sponsor.
Milo had not spent much time at the library at Glosmouth, unlike his brother, but every time he had been there he was struck by the similarity to a church. The reverent air of silence; the librarians like priests, a gateway between man and the answers he sought; the faithful patrons attending service. The effect was even stronger in this library: Milo felt almost uncomfortable as he stepped into the cavernous room. Tobin clearly had no such qualms and immediately headed off to find a librarian. Milo gave his brother an hour to enjoy the books, Which he felt was very generous. The afternoon was drawing on and soon the coach would be waiting for them at the park.
They left the library (with Tobin exulting their selection of literature) and Milo looked around. The park was to the west, so heading back the way they had come would not take then the most direct route. While he was sure the coach would wait for them, he thought it would be rude to to at least try and get the on time. He choose a street that seemed to be going the right direction and headed off at a brisk pace.
It quickly became clear that even walking quickly and taking a short cut they would not reach the coach in time. The streets had been getting narrowe r for a while now, Tobin noticed. They had long passed the size that would allow a coach to travel down, and some of the side streets were would only allow two grown men to walk side by side if their shoulders touched and even then it might be a squeeze. The buildings crowded in and it was only possible to see the sky by looking straight up at points. He felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the weather.
"Are you sure we're going the right way?”
"Of course we are,” Milo retorted. He pointed ahead. “See that spire? That's the big church, by the river.”
"But if we're heading to the river, shouldn't we be going downhill, rather than up?”
Milo stopped, unable to think of a good answer to that. “Look, just trust me, okay? Besides, what would you rather do? Stop someone for directions?”
"Would that really be such a bad idea?”
"Of course not! And while we're at it, we should walk around with placards that explaining that we're newcomers and we'd like to have our pockets picked, please. You're too naïve, Tobin. This is the big city; you can't assume people will respect us like they did at home. Most people here would have the shirt of your back the first chance you gave them. You're lucky you've got me, otherwise who knows how you'd end up?”
When did you become an expert on big city living? Tobin wondered but held his tongue.
There were fewer and fewer people in the streets now too. Currently he could only see two: an older man who was stumbling as if he was drunk and a younger man in an ostentatious hat who was heading straight towards them. He hoped neither would pay them any attention, but it became clear that the second man had spotted them and was intent on speaking.
As he approached Tobin could see the man was only a few years older than he and Milo were, tall and well built with long strawberry blond hair tied back neatly. He seemed surprisingly clean and well dressed, especially when compared to the nearby drunk and Tobin found that reassuring. He didn't share Milo's confidence that they were going the right way. Maybe this was someone who could help?
"Don't see your type walking down this end of town much,” the stranger commented. “You two aren't lost, are you?”
"No,” replied Milo quickly.
"Yes,” Tobin contradicted, ignoring his brother's glare.
"Heh heh, thought so!” He put his arm round Milo's shoulder. “Don't worry, I'll point you straight. Where were you trying to get to?”
"Queens Park,” Milo muttered sullenly.
The stranger laughed. “Oh it's lucky you ran into me! You're going entirely the wrong way! You need to turn round and go back you the way you came until reach an inn called the Crown and then turn right. Keep walking until you reach the river. You should be able to find your way from there.”
"Thanks,” Tobin said while Milo glowered.
"No problem at all. I'm always happy to help,” the stranger replied, turning away and walking straight into the drunk. “Whoops! Didn't see you there, my friend.”
The drunk picked himself and staggered to his feet. “Damn Velvets! Always trying to keep a man down.” He reached into his filthy coat, pulled out a small gun and held it out waving between the three of them.
“Hey! Don't point that thing at me!” the man in the hat retorted. “I'm no Velvet.”
The drunk glowered then settled his attention on Milo, who was in the middle of the group. “You! Give me your money.”
“You better do as he says,” Tobin whispered.
Milo suppressed a sigh. Thanks Tobin, he thought sarcastically. I hadn't considered doing that. Under a very solid sense of fear, he could feel a rising current of anger and humiliation. Two days. We didn't even last two days before getting lost and mugged at gunpoint. Slowly he reached into his jacket and felt nothing but the pocket fabric.
“It's gone!”
The drunk let out a cry. “Don't mess with me!” He clenched his fists.
The gun went off, and all four froze in horror at the sound. Then Milo looked down at the blood welling up through the hole in his jacket and collapsed. The drunk looked down at him and, realising what he had actually done, began to panic. He threw the gun down and ran away with a choked cry.
“It wasn't me! I didn't mean it!”
Tobin knelt at his brother's side and pushed a clean handkerchief over the wound. Blood welled up over his hands. Milo's skin was cool and clammy, his breathing rapid and shallow.
“Milo! Say something!” There was no answer and Tobin looked around wildly for someone to help them. He saw the man in the hat trying to walk away both quickly and quietly with little success at either. “You! Help me!”
“Oh no. I'm not getting involved.”
“Please! I think he's dying.” Something occurred to Tobin suddenly. “It was you, wasn't it? You stole his purse. This is all your fault.”
The man stopped and threw up his hands. “All right! All right! I know I can't just walk away. Lay off the guilt.” Muttering under his breath his he walked over and dropped down by Tobin. “We can't do anything out here. Let's get him somewhere safe.”
Tobin nodded and between the two of them they managed to get Milo to his feet. The blond man led the way down the street until they reached a large building at the end. The windows were blacked out, but light spilt out from under the doorway, along with the sound of music and laughing. There was a sign above the door, which showed the silhouette of a bunch of flowers dripping petals, under which was written The Black Bouquet. Tobin stopped.
“What is this? This is a...a...”
“A house of ill-repute? Yeah.” He thought about that for a moment. “Actually it's a house of very good repute. Business is going well at the moment.”
“I thought you were going to help!” Tobin exclaimed furiously. “He needs a doctor, not a tavern!”
“You want to see the doctor round here? Okay. It's only early evening. You might get lucky and find him just drunk, rather than blind drunk. You want to risk it?”
Tobin paused then shook his head.
“Then trust me.”
He pushed open the door. Inside was an open bar area, with several small round tables dotted around. Serving the men who were sat around them were five women, who appeared to be dressed only in their underwear. Each wore an ivory corset decorated with black lace, frilly black silk panties and stockings. In their hair each wore a large white feather and a different silk flower. As they entered, both the men and girls quickly stopped their conversations and turned to stare.
From a room on the other side of the bar appeared another woman. This one was at least ten years older than the oldest of the other girls. While she wore a full length black dress with a high lace collar, it was clearly tailored to demonstrate that she still had a full figure beneath it. Something about her stern and authoritative demeanour told Tobin that this was the establishment's owner. She took one look at the scene and clapped her hands.
“Dahlia! Fetch me hot water, clean bandages and a sharp knife. Lily, Bluebell, Jasmine, Poppy, carry on attending to our guests. Just because Rosney has decided to bring trouble through the front door today, we cannot forget we have a show to run.”
Four of the girls immediately turned back to their customers, while the fifth, a tall woman with dark curls piled on high on her head, headed behind the bar. Other than the front door there were four others: one behind the bar, a large one on the left wall and two more on smaller ones on the right. Rosney started for the closest one but the woman called after him:
“Not the sewing room, Rosney. You can't get blood out of taffeta. My office is fine.”
They laid Milo down on a leather couch in the office. A moment later the woman with the black curls and the dahlia in her hair walked in. She had a steaming kettle in one hand and a bowl holding a towel, bandages and a small sharp knife in the other which she set down on the desk. She turned to Tobin and gave him a smile. In her high heels, she towered over him.
“Don't worry, kid. Despite appearances, your friend is in good hands here.” She put her hands on their shoulders and pushed them gently towards the door. “Now, get out of here before you get in Madam's way. Go and get a drink or something.”
Tobin allowed himself to be led away into the next door room, which the woman had described as the sewing room. Indeed, there were two sewing machine tables set against the far wall, and several tailor's dummies in a variety of shapes and sizes. A large set of shelves dominated on wall, where fabrics of various colours and types were folded neatly. In the middle of the room was a large table. Several half finished projects were laid out: a couple of elaborate headdresses made of feathers and strings of pearls; a half-embroidered ruffled skirt; and even - Tobin found himself blushing - more silk panties.
Rosney held out a chair and told him to wait there. He left the room and came back a couple of minutes later with two glasses of an amber coloured liquid. He offered one to Tobin, who shook his head.
“Are you sure? You look like you could use a drink: your hands are shaking.” When Tobin shook his head again, he shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He drank one quickly and put the other down on the table. “We haven't been introduced yet. I'm Rosney Black. I'd say 'pleased to meet you' but I doubt the feeling is mutual.”
Tobin looked at him for a moment, and then took the proffered hand. “Tobin Whitlaw,” he answered quietly.
“Who's your friend?”
“He's my brother, Milo.”
There was uncomfortable silence. Tobin was staring at a spot on the floor, without really seeing anything. His face was pale; his hands, still trembling slightly, were clasped tightly in his lap.
“You two aren't from around here, right? I can tell from your accent,” Rosney commented, trying to make conversation. “So, where are you from and what brings you to the big city?”
“We're from Blackwater; we only arrived yesterday,” Tobin said after a moment of quiet. “We're staying with a relative. I...I don't think I like it here much.”
“Blackwater? Never heard of it. Look, the city will probably take some getting to used to, but it's not so bad. You'll see.”
“That's what Milo said yesterday: it will just take some getting used to,” Tobin said miserably. “I just don't understand,” he protested. “Why did he draw a gun on us? What's a Velvet, anyway?”
Rosney shook his head. “Wow, you really have led a sheltered life. He wanted your money; you and your brother just looked like easy targets. I'm sorry, but you really did. As for Velvet, it means someone from the good life. You know: money, titles, fine clothes.” He touched Tobin's cuff for emphasis. “Velvet.”
“What about you?”
“Me? Nah. This place just sometimes attracts a reasonable clientèle and sometimes they leave their jackets, or hats. One man left his shoes once, but he was really drunk. That doesn't happen very often.”
The door opened suddenly and Tobin looked up hopefully. Hope was replaced with confusion as the food remained open but no one entered the room. He turned to Rosney and finally spotted the small girl who climbing onto his lap. She settled in a comfortable position and sat, sucking her thumb and watching Tobin with wide eyes.
"What are you doing here, Kat? You know you're not supposed to be downstairs in the evenings."
"Is she your child?" Tobin inquired. The girl was about six or seven years old, with blonde curls and eyes the colour of sea-water.
Rosney looked indignant. "Just how old do you think I am?" he demanded. "Of course she's not mine."
"Sorry."
"Katja is like the stray cat of this place. We found her curled and fast asleep on the doorstep one morning. She doesn't seem to be able to talk so we don't know where she came from; we don't even know if that's really her name. It was on the doll she was holding and she answers to it so it's good enough, I guess."
Katja slipped down from Rosney's lap and walked over to Tobin. She held something out in her chubby hand towards him. Not knowing what else to do, Tobin opened his hand and she dropped something into it: it was a small cockle shell with a hole that someone had threaded a length of content through so it formed a crude necklace.
"Um, thank you?"
"She likes giving people presents," Rosney commented. "If anyone does anything nice for her, or if she thinks you're feeling sad, she'll give you something. She won't take no for an answer either; it's obviously something very important to her. Sometimes I don't want to know where she gets the thing she gives away though."
There was another long silence. Tobin sighed. "What's taking them so long?" He took out his pocket watch and opened it. A square of paper fell out. He reached down to pick it up but Katja was too quick.
"Hey, that's not yours," Rosney commented. "Give it back."
She ignored him and unfolded the paper. On it was a pencil sketch of three people. Katja pointed at Tobin.
"That's right: that's me. That's my brother, and that's my sister, Shana. She's the one that drew it."
Rosney looked over his shoulder at the picture. "You have a sister? Is she staying in the city too?"
"She's dead," Tobin said quietly.
"Oh. Sorry. Your family's pretty cursed, isn't it?"
"I'm beginning to think so," he replied quietly.
Another awkward silence passed that was interrupted by a knock at the door. Tobin jumped to his feet, as the woman in the black dress entered. He tried to speak, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. He felt Rosney put a hand on his shoulder.
“Well, we've done the best we could,” the woman said. “He's very weak and you should get him to a proper doctor as soon as possible. But we were able to remove the bullet and I don't think there is any permanent damage.”
“Then... Then he'll be all right?”
“That's my opinion, yes.” She handed him pen and paper. “Your family must be worried about you. If you write them a note and ask them to collect you, my nephew will deliver it for you.”
Rosney shook his head. "No I won't. It's probably miles to their house and it's started to rain."
The woman said nothing but suddenly Tobin felt as if the temperature in the room had dropped by several degrees. He watched the two stare at each other for a moment, then Rosney sighed.
"Yes Madam."
Tobin sat down at the big table and wrote a note to the earl in a trembling hand. He could only manage a few lines before his writing became illegible. Hoping that would be enough he folded the paper and wrote the address on the other side. He handed it to Rosney who took it sullenly. Madam Black took Katja's hand and turned to Tobin.
"Follow me."
He followed her into the office next door. Dahlia was tidying up the bloody clothes, needles and bandages from around the couch. She stood up as Tobin appeared in the doorway and have him a smile.
"Come in," she urged. As he came closer she added "He's lost quite a bit of blood and we gave some brandy to help with the pain so don't be surprised if he's a bit confused at the moment."
Tobin nodded and moved towards the couch. Milo was lying with his eyes closed but he opened them as his brother approached. His shirt was unbuttoned and there were bandages crossing his chest. He smiled weakly as Tobin pulled up a chair and sat down.
"Hey."
"How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been shot?" Milo suggested wryly. "Where are we, by the way?"
"I think..." Tobin lowered his voice. "I think we're in a brothel."
Milo nodded. "I see. That would explain the manner of dress around here." He paused for a moment. "Tobin? Why are we in a brothel?"
"I don't know. When you were... when you got shot I panicked. I didn't know what to do so I turned to the first person I could see for help and somehow we ended up here." He hung his head. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay. I'm fine; well, I will be fine. Let's not tell Father about any of this, though.”
It's quite interesting to see how the characters differ from when I wrote about them originally. Mostly it seems the male characters are very similar; Tobin has much more personality this time, he was very much a secondary character originally. Whereas Felicity and Bryony / Dahlia are very different. The first time Bryony was quiet, fifteen year old religious devotee, this time round she's twenty five, and a rather jaded burlesque dancer. Funny how these things turn out.
When Milo awoke the next morning a fire had been lit in his room, but it was still early. Outside the sky was a steely grey that implied dawn had not long broken. Listening, he could hear no noise outside his room; the house was still and quiet. He decided to get up now, rather than waiting for a summons. He dressed quickly then pushed the dividing door open quietly. Tobin was still fast asleep; curled up around his pillow and snoring gently.
He was unsure of the layout of most of the house still so headed down to the ballroom. The tables from the previous night had been moved away and now it was just an empty expanse of marble floor-tiles. There was no fireplace and even with the velvet curtains pulled over the large windows it felt unpleasantly cold. A sudden sense of loneliness washed over Milo. In that silent, empty room, it was easy to believe he was the only one alive in the entire house.
Not wanting to remain in the room any longer, he turned and headed back the way he had come. He decided that, as his brother had woken him in the night, it was time to return the favour. The rest of him, the house would be getting up soon anyway, he told himself. Tobin would not thank him if he was left to oversleep.
“Good morning.”
Milo jumped and tuned to see Felicity walking towards him. It seemed that ability to walk silently was a trait that was passed down in the earl's family.
“Good morning. You're up early.”
She smiled. “I might say the same about you. I've always been a light sleeper. What's your excuse?”
“I'm not normally up at this hour. I guess it's just the first night in a strange bed.”
“Where's your brother, still asleep? I didn't see much of him yesterday; I hope everything is okay.”
“I'm a little worried about him,” Milo admitted. “He hasn't been well recently and last night...” He stopped, unsure whether he should be repeating any of Tobin's conversation from last night. He decided to continue, knowing his brother was unlike to say anything himself, and told Felicity what Tobin had overheard at the party. He was relieved when Felicity looked shocked.
“That's terrible! Don't worry; I shall speak to my father: she will not be welcome back for a while.” She lowered her voice. “I'll be honest, I never liked her much. I shan't miss seeing her.”
Milo smiled. “Thank you.” They walked up the staircase together towards the bedrooms.
“Did you have any plans for today?” Felicity enquired.
“I thought we would go and have a look around the city. I ought to do something to cheer Tobin up, so that probably means we'll end up spending the day in the library or watching trains come into the station. Not really my idea of a good time, but I want to show him that there are good things here as well.”
“That's sweet. You're a good brother.”
Milo grinned. “I'm sure he could tell you plenty of tales to contradict that idea. Shana too, if she were here: we were always playing pranks on her. But because there were only ever the three of us we couldn't stay mad at each other for very long.”
They had reached the bedrooms now. Milo left Felicity outside and knocked on his brother's door. Inside he found Tobin awake, dressed and just tying back his hair.
“Ah, you are awake. Did you manage to get much sleep in the end?”
“A bit,” he replied, checking his reflection in the mirror. Milo felt slightly relieved: if his brother was worried about his appearance, then he was obviously feeling more himself this morning. He had always found Tobin's vanity quite amusing, especially in contrast with the rest of his personality. Satisfied, Tobin turned round. “Thanks, for last night.”
“It was nothing. I just wish you'd talked to me sooner.”
They stepped out into the hallway, where Felicity was waiting patiently. Morning pleasantries were exchanged; Milo watched his brother closely. He suspected Tobin still harboured suspicions about the earl's behaviour, but if he held the same opinions about Felicity it was not evident from his behaviour. As they walked down to breakfast, Felicity turned to Tobin.
“Do you still play piano, Tobin? My father has just acquired a new one; you'd be welcome to use it if you liked.”
He shook his head. “Thank you, but I haven't played in years. I'd be terribly out of practice now.”
Milo could remember poignantly the last time that Tobin had played the piano. The year before Shana had left for the academy, he had been teaching her how to play the instrument. She had not been particularly good at it, but better at least than she was at singing, and under Tobin's patient tutorage she had become at least proficient. It was not unusual on a wet afternoon to hear them playing together for several hours at a time.
When she went to the academy the piano sessions became less frequent, and never the same pieces he had played with Shana, until the day of her funeral. They had come back from the service, all three of them angry, grieving and silent. Tobin had gone straight to the piano and played through everything he and Shana had learnt. Hearing all those familiar tunes with half the notes missing had expressed all the sentiments they had not been able to say in words. Then, almost three hours later, he had closed the lid and no one had touched the piano since.
Felicity must have sensed there was something deeper behind his answer as she did not push the matter further. Instead they walked on in silence to the dining room where the earl was sat waiting for them. Clearly the family rose early in this household, Milo thought. Before taking his place at the table Tobin went and spoke directly to the earl. Although he could not hear the words spoken, Milo guessed he was apologising for disappearing last night.
As they ate, Milo explained his plan to explore the city. The earl had no objection to the idea and even offered to put his coach at their disposal. Milo invited Felicity to join them, but she excused herself. Whether this was because she thought she was being helpful, or whether it was simply that she did not fancy the day's activities he was not sure. Either way, he felt both glad and disappointed at the same time.
They set out immediately after breakfast. The waiting coach took them away from the house and down the gentle hill to the gardens they had passed through yesterday. It stopped by a small, shallow river near a set of iron gates that bore the legend “Queens Park” and it was agreed that they would meet back here at five that afternoon. Peterson pointed out the path that ran along side the river and explained that was the way to the city centre.
It was still relatively early and they were the only ones walking along the path. Beside them, the shallow river babbled quietly while small fish flitted between the water plants. On the other side were neat beds where the last flowers of the year were blooming. A couple of squirrels chased each other up a tree in the distance. They walked until the little river joined up with the much larger one that flowed through the city and crossing a bridge found themselves in a plaza in front of a large church with a large spire that reached towards the sky.
As they made their way past the church the streets started to get busier. They soon found themselves on the main road that led past the station. Unlike Blackwater, where they would be acknowledged with a nod or comment, people pushed past them, giving them no regard. Milo found the sensation of being single face in a sea of uncaring others quite unsettling; he was not used to being ignored. He turned to Tobin to see if his brother felt the same and found he was nowhere in sight.
Panicked, Milo looked around wildly but everyone around him was a stranger. He called his brother's name loudly, and then felt embarrassed as people turned and stared.
“That him?”
Milo turned in surprise to see an old man sat by a fruit stall looking at him. He was pointing with his cane and as Milo followed his direction he saw a familiar figure standing on the footbridge over the railway line.
“Yes, thank you.” He turned to catch up with Tobin, but the man stopped him.
“I've done you a favour, seems only fair you do the same for me,” he commented, looking pointedly at the stall.
With an inward sigh, Milo purchased a couple of apples and hurried over to the bridge. He cuffed his brother on the back of his head.
“Disappear like that again and I'll put a leash on you,” he growled.
Tobin gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I thought you were following me,” he said, rubbing his head.
Milo rolled his eyes but said nothing. He handed Tobin one of the apples and they stood on the bridging eating the fruit and watching a train making its way out of the station and on its way north. The air was heavy with the scent of coal smoke and oil, smells that Milo found quite unpleasant but he remembered the day's greater purpose and waited patiently until the train was out of sight.
Once it was gone he decided that was enough and led the way over the bridge before another train could appear. They found themselves in a large street with tall shops either side. The next few hours were quickly filled up investigating them and it was only when Milo realised how hungry he was that he realised how late it had got. They stopped and had lunch in the restaurant of the Grand hotel, a towering building overlooking the serpentine river. Milo had never eaten in a restaurant before, and he decided he greatly enjoyed the experience. The food was much better than anything he had ever tried at home and he found the dignified atmosphere, the implacable waiters and shining silverware all very agreeable.
"Still think it was a bad idea to come to the city?" He asked Tobin as the waiter brought their dessert.
"No," his brother mumbled over a mouthful of peaches and sponge cake. "No, I guess not."
"You could admit you were wrong slightly more graciously," Milo replied with a grin. "What shall we do this afternoon?"
"We could find the library," Tobin suggested hopefully.
"I should have guessed you would say that. Okay, I'm sure we can look for it at least."
"It holds copy of every book ever published in this country. No more waiting for the book I want to be found and delivered to the local library."
"See? The big city does have some advantages."
They finished eating and left the restaurant, heading back out onto the streets. Walking along the bank of the river away from the shops they came to the large plaza and the grand court building Milo had seen from the coach the previous day. Beyond that were several other large buildings, one of which turned out to be the library. On the other side of the river they could see a large gated complex with several structures that Tobin thought was probably the university. Past the university was the industrial sector, with warehouses and factories backing onto the water and on the other side of them, where the river reached the sea, were the dockyards.
After they had walked around the area for a while and Milo was satisfied he had seen enough for the day they returned to the library. It was a low, stone building, suggesting that it had not always been a library; shared repositories for books were a reasonably new concept on Tobermoerai. While the sorceresses still had final say over whether a new book could be printed, the number of publishing houses was increasing, as was the number of people in the population who could read. Access to the libraries was strictly controlled but theoretically anyone could use them if they found a suitable sponsor.
Milo had not spent much time at the library at Glosmouth, unlike his brother, but every time he had been there he was struck by the similarity to a church. The reverent air of silence; the librarians like priests, a gateway between man and the answers he sought; the faithful patrons attending service. The effect was even stronger in this library: Milo felt almost uncomfortable as he stepped into the cavernous room. Tobin clearly had no such qualms and immediately headed off to find a librarian. Milo gave his brother an hour to enjoy the books, Which he felt was very generous. The afternoon was drawing on and soon the coach would be waiting for them at the park.
They left the library (with Tobin exulting their selection of literature) and Milo looked around. The park was to the west, so heading back the way they had come would not take then the most direct route. While he was sure the coach would wait for them, he thought it would be rude to to at least try and get the on time. He choose a street that seemed to be going the right direction and headed off at a brisk pace.
It quickly became clear that even walking quickly and taking a short cut they would not reach the coach in time. The streets had been getting narrowe r for a while now, Tobin noticed. They had long passed the size that would allow a coach to travel down, and some of the side streets were would only allow two grown men to walk side by side if their shoulders touched and even then it might be a squeeze. The buildings crowded in and it was only possible to see the sky by looking straight up at points. He felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the weather.
"Are you sure we're going the right way?”
"Of course we are,” Milo retorted. He pointed ahead. “See that spire? That's the big church, by the river.”
"But if we're heading to the river, shouldn't we be going downhill, rather than up?”
Milo stopped, unable to think of a good answer to that. “Look, just trust me, okay? Besides, what would you rather do? Stop someone for directions?”
"Would that really be such a bad idea?”
"Of course not! And while we're at it, we should walk around with placards that explaining that we're newcomers and we'd like to have our pockets picked, please. You're too naïve, Tobin. This is the big city; you can't assume people will respect us like they did at home. Most people here would have the shirt of your back the first chance you gave them. You're lucky you've got me, otherwise who knows how you'd end up?”
When did you become an expert on big city living? Tobin wondered but held his tongue.
There were fewer and fewer people in the streets now too. Currently he could only see two: an older man who was stumbling as if he was drunk and a younger man in an ostentatious hat who was heading straight towards them. He hoped neither would pay them any attention, but it became clear that the second man had spotted them and was intent on speaking.
As he approached Tobin could see the man was only a few years older than he and Milo were, tall and well built with long strawberry blond hair tied back neatly. He seemed surprisingly clean and well dressed, especially when compared to the nearby drunk and Tobin found that reassuring. He didn't share Milo's confidence that they were going the right way. Maybe this was someone who could help?
"Don't see your type walking down this end of town much,” the stranger commented. “You two aren't lost, are you?”
"No,” replied Milo quickly.
"Yes,” Tobin contradicted, ignoring his brother's glare.
"Heh heh, thought so!” He put his arm round Milo's shoulder. “Don't worry, I'll point you straight. Where were you trying to get to?”
"Queens Park,” Milo muttered sullenly.
The stranger laughed. “Oh it's lucky you ran into me! You're going entirely the wrong way! You need to turn round and go back you the way you came until reach an inn called the Crown and then turn right. Keep walking until you reach the river. You should be able to find your way from there.”
"Thanks,” Tobin said while Milo glowered.
"No problem at all. I'm always happy to help,” the stranger replied, turning away and walking straight into the drunk. “Whoops! Didn't see you there, my friend.”
The drunk picked himself and staggered to his feet. “Damn Velvets! Always trying to keep a man down.” He reached into his filthy coat, pulled out a small gun and held it out waving between the three of them.
“Hey! Don't point that thing at me!” the man in the hat retorted. “I'm no Velvet.”
The drunk glowered then settled his attention on Milo, who was in the middle of the group. “You! Give me your money.”
“You better do as he says,” Tobin whispered.
Milo suppressed a sigh. Thanks Tobin, he thought sarcastically. I hadn't considered doing that. Under a very solid sense of fear, he could feel a rising current of anger and humiliation. Two days. We didn't even last two days before getting lost and mugged at gunpoint. Slowly he reached into his jacket and felt nothing but the pocket fabric.
“It's gone!”
The drunk let out a cry. “Don't mess with me!” He clenched his fists.
The gun went off, and all four froze in horror at the sound. Then Milo looked down at the blood welling up through the hole in his jacket and collapsed. The drunk looked down at him and, realising what he had actually done, began to panic. He threw the gun down and ran away with a choked cry.
“It wasn't me! I didn't mean it!”
Tobin knelt at his brother's side and pushed a clean handkerchief over the wound. Blood welled up over his hands. Milo's skin was cool and clammy, his breathing rapid and shallow.
“Milo! Say something!” There was no answer and Tobin looked around wildly for someone to help them. He saw the man in the hat trying to walk away both quickly and quietly with little success at either. “You! Help me!”
“Oh no. I'm not getting involved.”
“Please! I think he's dying.” Something occurred to Tobin suddenly. “It was you, wasn't it? You stole his purse. This is all your fault.”
The man stopped and threw up his hands. “All right! All right! I know I can't just walk away. Lay off the guilt.” Muttering under his breath his he walked over and dropped down by Tobin. “We can't do anything out here. Let's get him somewhere safe.”
Tobin nodded and between the two of them they managed to get Milo to his feet. The blond man led the way down the street until they reached a large building at the end. The windows were blacked out, but light spilt out from under the doorway, along with the sound of music and laughing. There was a sign above the door, which showed the silhouette of a bunch of flowers dripping petals, under which was written The Black Bouquet. Tobin stopped.
“What is this? This is a...a...”
“A house of ill-repute? Yeah.” He thought about that for a moment. “Actually it's a house of very good repute. Business is going well at the moment.”
“I thought you were going to help!” Tobin exclaimed furiously. “He needs a doctor, not a tavern!”
“You want to see the doctor round here? Okay. It's only early evening. You might get lucky and find him just drunk, rather than blind drunk. You want to risk it?”
Tobin paused then shook his head.
“Then trust me.”
He pushed open the door. Inside was an open bar area, with several small round tables dotted around. Serving the men who were sat around them were five women, who appeared to be dressed only in their underwear. Each wore an ivory corset decorated with black lace, frilly black silk panties and stockings. In their hair each wore a large white feather and a different silk flower. As they entered, both the men and girls quickly stopped their conversations and turned to stare.
From a room on the other side of the bar appeared another woman. This one was at least ten years older than the oldest of the other girls. While she wore a full length black dress with a high lace collar, it was clearly tailored to demonstrate that she still had a full figure beneath it. Something about her stern and authoritative demeanour told Tobin that this was the establishment's owner. She took one look at the scene and clapped her hands.
“Dahlia! Fetch me hot water, clean bandages and a sharp knife. Lily, Bluebell, Jasmine, Poppy, carry on attending to our guests. Just because Rosney has decided to bring trouble through the front door today, we cannot forget we have a show to run.”
Four of the girls immediately turned back to their customers, while the fifth, a tall woman with dark curls piled on high on her head, headed behind the bar. Other than the front door there were four others: one behind the bar, a large one on the left wall and two more on smaller ones on the right. Rosney started for the closest one but the woman called after him:
“Not the sewing room, Rosney. You can't get blood out of taffeta. My office is fine.”
They laid Milo down on a leather couch in the office. A moment later the woman with the black curls and the dahlia in her hair walked in. She had a steaming kettle in one hand and a bowl holding a towel, bandages and a small sharp knife in the other which she set down on the desk. She turned to Tobin and gave him a smile. In her high heels, she towered over him.
“Don't worry, kid. Despite appearances, your friend is in good hands here.” She put her hands on their shoulders and pushed them gently towards the door. “Now, get out of here before you get in Madam's way. Go and get a drink or something.”
Tobin allowed himself to be led away into the next door room, which the woman had described as the sewing room. Indeed, there were two sewing machine tables set against the far wall, and several tailor's dummies in a variety of shapes and sizes. A large set of shelves dominated on wall, where fabrics of various colours and types were folded neatly. In the middle of the room was a large table. Several half finished projects were laid out: a couple of elaborate headdresses made of feathers and strings of pearls; a half-embroidered ruffled skirt; and even - Tobin found himself blushing - more silk panties.
Rosney held out a chair and told him to wait there. He left the room and came back a couple of minutes later with two glasses of an amber coloured liquid. He offered one to Tobin, who shook his head.
“Are you sure? You look like you could use a drink: your hands are shaking.” When Tobin shook his head again, he shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He drank one quickly and put the other down on the table. “We haven't been introduced yet. I'm Rosney Black. I'd say 'pleased to meet you' but I doubt the feeling is mutual.”
Tobin looked at him for a moment, and then took the proffered hand. “Tobin Whitlaw,” he answered quietly.
“Who's your friend?”
“He's my brother, Milo.”
There was uncomfortable silence. Tobin was staring at a spot on the floor, without really seeing anything. His face was pale; his hands, still trembling slightly, were clasped tightly in his lap.
“You two aren't from around here, right? I can tell from your accent,” Rosney commented, trying to make conversation. “So, where are you from and what brings you to the big city?”
“We're from Blackwater; we only arrived yesterday,” Tobin said after a moment of quiet. “We're staying with a relative. I...I don't think I like it here much.”
“Blackwater? Never heard of it. Look, the city will probably take some getting to used to, but it's not so bad. You'll see.”
“That's what Milo said yesterday: it will just take some getting used to,” Tobin said miserably. “I just don't understand,” he protested. “Why did he draw a gun on us? What's a Velvet, anyway?”
Rosney shook his head. “Wow, you really have led a sheltered life. He wanted your money; you and your brother just looked like easy targets. I'm sorry, but you really did. As for Velvet, it means someone from the good life. You know: money, titles, fine clothes.” He touched Tobin's cuff for emphasis. “Velvet.”
“What about you?”
“Me? Nah. This place just sometimes attracts a reasonable clientèle and sometimes they leave their jackets, or hats. One man left his shoes once, but he was really drunk. That doesn't happen very often.”
The door opened suddenly and Tobin looked up hopefully. Hope was replaced with confusion as the food remained open but no one entered the room. He turned to Rosney and finally spotted the small girl who climbing onto his lap. She settled in a comfortable position and sat, sucking her thumb and watching Tobin with wide eyes.
"What are you doing here, Kat? You know you're not supposed to be downstairs in the evenings."
"Is she your child?" Tobin inquired. The girl was about six or seven years old, with blonde curls and eyes the colour of sea-water.
Rosney looked indignant. "Just how old do you think I am?" he demanded. "Of course she's not mine."
"Sorry."
"Katja is like the stray cat of this place. We found her curled and fast asleep on the doorstep one morning. She doesn't seem to be able to talk so we don't know where she came from; we don't even know if that's really her name. It was on the doll she was holding and she answers to it so it's good enough, I guess."
Katja slipped down from Rosney's lap and walked over to Tobin. She held something out in her chubby hand towards him. Not knowing what else to do, Tobin opened his hand and she dropped something into it: it was a small cockle shell with a hole that someone had threaded a length of content through so it formed a crude necklace.
"Um, thank you?"
"She likes giving people presents," Rosney commented. "If anyone does anything nice for her, or if she thinks you're feeling sad, she'll give you something. She won't take no for an answer either; it's obviously something very important to her. Sometimes I don't want to know where she gets the thing she gives away though."
There was another long silence. Tobin sighed. "What's taking them so long?" He took out his pocket watch and opened it. A square of paper fell out. He reached down to pick it up but Katja was too quick.
"Hey, that's not yours," Rosney commented. "Give it back."
She ignored him and unfolded the paper. On it was a pencil sketch of three people. Katja pointed at Tobin.
"That's right: that's me. That's my brother, and that's my sister, Shana. She's the one that drew it."
Rosney looked over his shoulder at the picture. "You have a sister? Is she staying in the city too?"
"She's dead," Tobin said quietly.
"Oh. Sorry. Your family's pretty cursed, isn't it?"
"I'm beginning to think so," he replied quietly.
Another awkward silence passed that was interrupted by a knock at the door. Tobin jumped to his feet, as the woman in the black dress entered. He tried to speak, but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. He felt Rosney put a hand on his shoulder.
“Well, we've done the best we could,” the woman said. “He's very weak and you should get him to a proper doctor as soon as possible. But we were able to remove the bullet and I don't think there is any permanent damage.”
“Then... Then he'll be all right?”
“That's my opinion, yes.” She handed him pen and paper. “Your family must be worried about you. If you write them a note and ask them to collect you, my nephew will deliver it for you.”
Rosney shook his head. "No I won't. It's probably miles to their house and it's started to rain."
The woman said nothing but suddenly Tobin felt as if the temperature in the room had dropped by several degrees. He watched the two stare at each other for a moment, then Rosney sighed.
"Yes Madam."
Tobin sat down at the big table and wrote a note to the earl in a trembling hand. He could only manage a few lines before his writing became illegible. Hoping that would be enough he folded the paper and wrote the address on the other side. He handed it to Rosney who took it sullenly. Madam Black took Katja's hand and turned to Tobin.
"Follow me."
He followed her into the office next door. Dahlia was tidying up the bloody clothes, needles and bandages from around the couch. She stood up as Tobin appeared in the doorway and have him a smile.
"Come in," she urged. As he came closer she added "He's lost quite a bit of blood and we gave some brandy to help with the pain so don't be surprised if he's a bit confused at the moment."
Tobin nodded and moved towards the couch. Milo was lying with his eyes closed but he opened them as his brother approached. His shirt was unbuttoned and there were bandages crossing his chest. He smiled weakly as Tobin pulled up a chair and sat down.
"Hey."
"How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been shot?" Milo suggested wryly. "Where are we, by the way?"
"I think..." Tobin lowered his voice. "I think we're in a brothel."
Milo nodded. "I see. That would explain the manner of dress around here." He paused for a moment. "Tobin? Why are we in a brothel?"
"I don't know. When you were... when you got shot I panicked. I didn't know what to do so I turned to the first person I could see for help and somehow we ended up here." He hung his head. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay. I'm fine; well, I will be fine. Let's not tell Father about any of this, though.”
It's quite interesting to see how the characters differ from when I wrote about them originally. Mostly it seems the male characters are very similar; Tobin has much more personality this time, he was very much a secondary character originally. Whereas Felicity and Bryony / Dahlia are very different. The first time Bryony was quiet, fifteen year old religious devotee, this time round she's twenty five, and a rather jaded burlesque dancer. Funny how these things turn out.