AzraelComesToCallThe faint perfume of expensive cologne drifted across the room, causing Amity to look up from her tidying. She was startled to see a dark cloaked figure in the shadows by the doorway. "Forgive my intrusion," the soft, deep masculine voice said from the shadows. "I am inquiring after one of your residents; the Actor, David Lytham?" The subtle emphasis on 'actor' left no doubt that the gentleman, for he was obviously such, would only be inquiring after Lytham for that purpose. "Lytham? He ain't... isn't here at the moment, but I expect him shortly." Amity put on her most sophisticated tone. A smile from the shadow prompted Amity to add, "You can wait for him in the parlor, if you like? Can I tell him who is asking for him?" "I will be waiting for him, but not in the parlor. If you must tell him anything, tell him, 'Azrael' was here." A flash of gold lazily arched through the air toward Amity, who snatched it swiftly, belying her sturdy appearance. A coin of that weight would go a long way in repairing Plum House to its former glory, but how could she possibly pass it? She glanced greedily at the coin and her eyes opened wide as she saw the date... it was the year her father had died. She could say she had been keeping it from that time.... "Azrael?" The daughter of the great actor Adolf stiffened, recognizing the name. "The 'Angel of death'?" She glanced up and gasped as the doorway was empty. --- With soft leather boots, Decuma had slipped up the stairs, keeping to the edges to avoid any squeaks. The landlady had given him all the information he needed. Lytham wasn't here at the moment but would be returning shortly. He'd just wait for him in the actor's bedroom. As it happened, when David Lytham returned to his lodging, he didn't cross paths with his landlady. Like most of the tenants of Plum House, he had a latchkey, but this early in the evening he didn't need it. He eased open the big door and ran lightly up the stairs. He'd had a bite of dinner in a nearby eating house, and now only meant to change clothes before going out again. The clubs would soon be crowded, and a certain open stage was calling to him. Lytham's room was on the third floor, an inconveniently shaped corner apartment with an angled ceiling, partly made up for by a dormer window. Lytham kept his reading chair, a battered wingback, wedged into the dormer where the light was best. The room's other furnishings consisted of a bed and small bedside table, a tall armoire, a washstand with a mirror mounted over it, and a couple of bookshelves made of bricks and planking that ran along the short wall. As Lytham opened the door of his room, the first thing he saw, as always, was his own tall, slim silhouette reflected in the mirror, which was on the wall opposite. Then he caught the whiff of cologne, and froze. That wasn't his.... Yet, it was familiar. As was the commanding voice that spoke softly from the shadows, "Come in and close the door, please, David. There is something I wish to discuss with you." "Az--" The name seemed to turn sideways and lodge in Lytham's throat. Actors are one of the most superstitious groups of people around, and even though he knew -- none better, perhaps -- that this particular Angel of Death was flesh and blood, a chill threaded down his spine at the thought of saying the name, here and now. He swallowed hard and obeyed, though shutting the door cut off the lamplight from the hall and made the room almost completely dark. Only the last of the evening light filtered through the dormer window. "My lord?" Lytham whispered uncertainly. That seemed safer, though whether it was safe at all to have anyone he'd met there come upon him here, he didn't like to think. Before Lytham's eyes could adjust to the gloom, with a flourish of his cape, Decuma swiftly seated himself in the chair, with the only light now behind him. His hand gestured toward the only other possible seat in the room, the bed, and with a silky voice said, "Make yourself comfortable, David." Lytham moved across the room and sank down on the edge of the bed. Somehow that steadied him, despite the continued unease at having the man he knew only as Azrael call him by his Christian name. If he wants me on the bed, I can handle that... "I have a proposition for you, my friend." Decuma's voice softened, almost to his normal tone. "I believe you may be someone I can trust for this... job." "You know I am yours to command, my lord." Lytham was regaining control of his voice, and allowed just a trace of innuendo to thread through it. "Perhaps we can discuss that later." Decuma allowed amusement to enter his voice. "But the reason I am here, and why I did not wish to discuss this with you there is," he paused and said with an icy chill back in his voice, "that which I wish to ask of you is something -- personally dangerous." Lytham blinked, once; his eyes looked faintly greenish in the half-light. "Flirting with Death?" he asked, his voice stronger now. "Well, I'm used to that..." Decuma nodded and judged he could continue. "You are aware that there are some at the Club who are not there by choice. Someone there is providing that entertainment. Someone who might be known to you..." And he growled out, "Someone who has taken a friend of mine...." The growl was real and filled with dangerous anger. "Did he? That sounds injudicious," Lytham responded. After a pause, he added, "I've heard them called 'Tonio's girls'." "Yes, so have I." Decuma sat forward. He felt a thrill at the confirmation. "It is this 'Tonio' whom I suspect has my friend. And it is this 'Tonio' whom I wish you to investigate." He sat back and his voice softened again. "Perhaps you can suggest you have a client who would enjoy his services. I can provide you with the incentive for him to speak with you." Decuma's cloak moved with a whisper and a heavy bag of coins bounced on the mattress beside Lytham. "I know those coins, David, and I would suggest you not spend them anywhere other than as suggested." A smaller bag landed next to the first. "That one is for your... expenses." The young actor sat forward also. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, but what Decuma could see of his expression showed more eagerness than either fear or greed, as he slid into the role of conspirator. "I've never met him, or dealt with him," he cautioned Decuma, "but I know who's on the receiving end -- who he delivers his 'wares' to, where they go, who uses them." Decuma could feel the excitement, and tried not to let it creep into his voice. "A promising start. Now, who does the delivering? And their source." Lytham shook his head regretfully. "I don't know that. I don't see that. It doesn't happen in the Pits." That was the employees' nickname for the staff areas of the Club. "Geryon ... he brings them from somewhere outside, usually drugged. But I don't know where he picks them up." "Geryon?" Decuma filed that name away. Club pseudonyms were supposed to be impenetrable, but that was a polite fiction. "Is he someone you could get... close to? Or perhaps has a vice we could... exploit?" Giving voice to a mirthless chuckle, Lytham said, "He loves money. This much coin..." He poked the larger of the two bags lying on the bed. "...or even a tithe of it, will loosen his tongue. Guaranteed." His mouth curled up at one corner. "I won't even have to lie to him, much. Will I? I'll just say I know someone who wants to deal with Tonio, privately." "Yes. Certainly not a lie. I'd love to 'deal' with him privately." Decuma's voice dripped with vengeance. "But be careful. This Geryon may not be too swift, but whomever he deals with or confides in could become suspicious... and come calling. Be ready with an answer for what your client is after, to sound plausible. Generic enough not to bring suspicion. But here are a few details to toss in to see if we can come up with the quarry... female, young, but not too young, with some experience, but not someone with training, strong and," He paused, "flexible. Be careful with that last description. It could get you into trouble." He didn't have to say how. "Not quite generic enough?" Lytham guessed dryly. He paused, then went on in a lower tone, "And what should I do if I find there's already a ... client? I think -- I don't know for sure, but it's sometimes seemed -- that some of 'Tonio's girls' are special orders." "This wasn't a 'special order' as far as I understand those to be, but if there is already a client, then we'll just have to... intervene." Decuma smiled, and answered almost conversationally, "However, I do not think there will be one. And if that is the case, you can do more than hint that the client showing interest for a girl of this sort would compensate well for the experience. I know this 'Tonio' to be a very greedy man... and if he can be paid in more than one way for the same goods, then I'm sure he would have no qualms in doing so." Decuma leaned forward again, his voice again turning icy. "However, as much as I desire the return of my friend, I also desire reaching the one responsible. We do not want to encourage such... behavior." "Do you want me to set up a meeting with Tonio ... for you?" Lytham asked uncertainly. "Perhaps... if that is necessary." Decuma's hand casually brushed his sword. "Though removal of one of his kind only leaves a vacuum waiting to be filled, and might necessitate another lesson. I think it is better to teach this dog to heel and leave him where he is than have to do this all again." Decuma almost winced hearing his step-father's words issuing from his mouth. He didn't necessarily want to believe Lagoran, and truly wished that people like this Tonio did not exist, but he was realistic enough to know that they did exist and probably always would. "But in the meantime, you want information," Lytham guessed. "How do you wish me to convey it to you once I've got it?" "Yes, I need information -- whatever you can gather on Tonio. Anything and Everything. Even if you think it is not important," Decuma stated firmly. Lytham nodded his comprehension. Decuma's mindseye saw Giulian's anxious face and, recalling the deadline that was swiftly approaching, he inhaled and closed his eyes a moment as he reached his decision. "And you can contact me directly." He snapped open a very expensive and rare lighter, and in the flare of the flame, Decuma's very recognizable face was clearly revealed. "Decuma Maun." He heard the other man's sharp intake of breath, saw the light eyes widen and the long-fingered hands clench on the bedcover before he snapped the lighter off again. "Right." Lytham's voice was decidedly shaky, though he was trying for a note of insouciance as he continued, "So when I have something to report, I just waltz up to the front door of Blackheath?" Decuma laughed. It was almost a relief not to hide in the shadows anymore, at least figuratively. "No, probably not. But I have decided that I rather enjoy taking drinks at Cipriano's. I'll be there for the next few evenings..." "And you'd rather not drink alone?" Lytham nodded. "I know that place; a friend of mine who's a sculptor sold them a couple of pieces. I can arrange for you to have an... escort. Would you like to put a name to the lady?" His voice shifted as he spoke, from light tenor to the husky alto of a certain exotic dancer. Decuma felt a rush of heat as the remembered voice brought a wave of desire. "Dionne, perhaps?" His own voice was husky in response. He cleared it before continuing. "Dionne," Lytham confirmed in a whisper. "David, we only have until the end of the week. I do not want to think what will happen if we do not find her before that." "I won't fail you, my lord," Lytham promised. "I know you won't. You never have." Decuma smiled. The room had grown quite dark by this time, and Decuma knew it was time to go, "Now, you have an appointment to keep, as do I, and we do not want suspicion cast on you for being late." Decuma rose. "True." There was a faint note of regret in Lytham's voice as he, too, rose. Decuma silently approached Lytham stopping only inches away from him, and his hand sliding along the other man's chest coming to rest just above his belt. "Be careful," he whispered. Then with a twirl of cape he strode to the door, only to pause once more before moving out into the hallway. "And those knives you have under your bed? I suggest tucking a few onto your person. You never know when those might be useful." Then he was gone, leaving behind the scent of expensive cologne. |
