“Good evening.” He enunciated the reply, freighting it with a different meaning entirely. One of the idlers abruptly brayed aloud, a whiskey laugh that sent his fellows off into sniggering laughter. Brainless. He took the steps briskly, thinking that the music sounded louder tonight, the notes more brittle. Within, he endured the services of the serving boy, nodding perfunctorily that he was satisfied before passing into the inner chamber.

There, finally, there were enough things out of routine that he was moved to lightly touch the hilt of the sword at his belt. Too many folk were in this room. Customers did not linger here. Bettel did not permit it. If a man came to pay for a whore, then he could take his purchase to a private room to enjoy as he pleased. This was not some cheap sailors' whorehouse, where the wares could be fondled and sampled before one bought. Bettel ran a proper house, discreet and dignified.

But tonight the reek of cindin was heavy in the air, and men slouched insolently in the chairs where the whores usually displayed themselves. The prostitutes who remained in the room were standing or perched on laps. Their smiles seemed more brittle, their laughter more forced, and Kennit noticed how swiftly their eyes strayed to Bettel herself. This time her black locks had been trained into ringlets. They swung stiff and shining. Despite her layers of powder, a mist of perspiration shone on her forehead and upper lip, and the reek of cindin was stronger on her breath.

“Captain Kennit, you dear man!” she greeted him with her usual contrived affection. She came at him, arms wide as if to embrace him. At the last moment she dropped them to clasp her hands joyously before her. Her fingernails were gilded. “Just wait until you see what I have for you!”

“I'd rather not wait,” Kennit replied irritably. His eyes wandered the room.

“For I knew you were coming, you see!” she burbled on. “Oh, we hear of it right away, when the Marietta comes to dock. And here in Divvytown, we've heard all the tales of your adventures. Not that we wouldn't be so delighted if you ever chose to favor us with the telling yourself.” She batted her lash-laden eyes up at him, and rolled her breasts forward against the confines of her dress.

“You know my usual arrangements,” he pointed out to her, but she had seized hold of his hand and was threatening to engulf it in her bosom as she clasped it fondly to her.

“Oh, your usual arrangements!” she cried gaily. “Fie on the usual, Captain Kennit, dear. That is not why a man comes to Bettel's house, for the 'usual.' Now come with me and see. Just see what I've saved for you.”

There were at least three men in the room who were following their conversation with more attention than seemed polite. None of them, Kennit noted, looked particularly pleased as Bettel tugged him over to a candle-lit alcove off the main room. Curious and cautious, he glanced within.

Either she was a new arrival, or had been working on his previous visits. She was striking if one fancied small, pale women. She had large blue eyes in a heart-shaped face with painted pink cheeks. Her plump little mouth was painted red. Short golden hair was dressed in tight curls all over her head. Bettel had dressed her in pale blue, and decked her in gilt jewelry. The girl stood up from the tasseled cushions where she had been seated and smiled sweetly up at him. Nervously, but sweetly. Her nipples had been tipped with pink to make them stand out more noticeably beneath the pale gauze of her dress.

“For you, Captain Kennit,” Bettel purred. “As sweet as honey, and pretty as a little doll. And our largest room. Now. Will you want your meal set out first, as usual?”

He smiled at Bettel. “Yes, I will. And in my usual room, with my usual woman to follow. I do not play with dolls. They don't amuse me.”

He turned and walked away from her, headed toward the stair. Over his shoulder, he reminded her. “Have Etta bathe first. And remember, Bettel, a decent wine.”

“But Captain Kennit!” she protested. The nervousness in her voice was suddenly a shrilling of fear. “Please. At least try Avoretta. If you do not fancy her, there will be no charge.”

Kennit was ascending the stairs. “I do not fancy her, so there is no charge.” The small of his back ached with tension. He had seen avidity kindle in the men's eyes as he started up the main staircase. He reached the top of the landing and opened the door to the narrow stair beyond it. He entered it, shutting the door behind him. Several long, light strides took him to the second small landing where the sole lantern burned. Here the stairway bent back on itself. He waited soundlessly around the corner. He drew his sword silently and unsheathed his belt knife as well. He heard the door below softly open and then close again. By their cautious tread, at least three men were behind him on the stairs. He smiled grimly. Better here, in tight quarters with them below him than out on the dark of the streets. With a bit of luck he'd take at least one by surprise.