The Pearl Crucible - A Dardana Fenek Mystery - MAMA SOLENE - (part 2)

(Chapter 6, part 2)

By then, as you can guess, I was second-guessing my decision to come there. Not that I expected something terrible to happen—Solene Zenithar’s a respectable businesswoman, takes care of her whores and allows them some of the money they earn for her, and doesn’t personally engage, so far as I know, in anything too illegal.

But Barsina was trying not to tremble and was doing a poor job. People think one contract-owner is much like another to an indentured. That’s not true at all for former citizens and isn’t even true for the tank-bred. Barsina didn’t have great memories of Mama Solene and being back in her office—well, my back and bum were twitching, and I’d never worked for the woman.

The walls were all over nice frescoes, and there were plants. The desk was mahogany like the door, if I’ve got the right word, black and polished, carved with leopards, lions, and gazelle. There was a terminal for data and a terminal for many security cameras, and Solene Zenithar herself was between, eyebrows arched and a pleasant smile on her ruby lips. But her violet eyes … natural or contacts or what: they’re unsettling.

I don’t know how old Mama Solene is. Her establishment predates me in Aulis. I know she was an under-madam for her predecessor, who now has a big villa up the coast filled with pretty servants and even prettier militia boys as her guards. I’ve been, on business. Solene’s was called Mama Sampa’s back then. But between good genes, good surgery, and good makeup, she doesn’t look a day older than me. The only flaw to her beauty is the cold way she looks at you. It doesn’t bother men—I think—but a woman gets looked at like that, and you feel like you’re on an auction block.

She was dressed in a sheer silk chiton, bare off one shoulder, and the required red girdle. Waves of black hair built around the back of her head, bound with gold threads and silver cords. She smoked a slender manufactured cigarette in a holder. I thought I caught a whiff of seda-t in the tobacco, which is quite illegal for a mercanter like her, but she has too many contacts in higher classes to worry about little things like that.

Still, I didn’t take deep breaths.

“Dardana, darling,” she said in her low contralto as Lunluma stood by the door. “How are you!”

“I’m well,” I said, all friendly. “Keeping busy.”

“So I hear. And you’ve brought Barsina,” her glance slid past me. “Keeping her busy too?”

“My right hand,” I said, missing her point deliberately. “Wouldn’t be without her.”

“The girls miss you, Barsina,” Mama said.

Barsina curtsied.

“So do the customers.” The violet eyes drifted to the round card table by the windows. The heavy curtains were pulled, but at night, it was a view of garish neon, women calling out to marks in the street below. “People ask after you. I’m still trying to find another Barsina at a decent price—but I’d happily play for her again, any time.”

“Always an honor,” I said, “but I’m pleased with her work.”

“So was I,” she said, sharp.

This conversation wasn’t promising. “Lunluma said you might have information that might be helpful,” I said.

“I know many things that might be helpful to many people.” She picked up a black lacquered stylus with gold filigree and spun it in her fingers. Her nails were painted red like her lips. “It all matters what they’re willing to pay for it.”

“I’ll warn you, I’m on a budget.”

“So I’d imagine. Finding lost cats? Getting rents paid?”

“I cover my bills.”

She walked to the windows, pulling aside a fluttering curtain. Golden afternoon flowed through her chiton. The light passed through her garment and left her clearly outlined, ankle to neck.

“Well, what if I told you I knew why this … unpleasantness occurred?”

“I’d ask why you didn’t go to the militia and inform them.”

“Well, militia can help themselves,” she said, dropping the curtain and turning to me. “But we women must help each other.” She touched her chest. “I’m a businesswoman.” She gestured to me. “You’re a businesswoman.”

She strolled with long swings of her legs and hips and took Barsina’s chin to stroke it with her thumb. Barsina’s dark blues were wide, but she didn’t move. I thought better of asking the madam to knock it off.

“The militia would take my information without thanks, but you can repay me. Mutual benefit.”

“Yah,” I agreed. “What’s your price?”

“My price is her contract.”

“I can’t afford that.”

“A pity. You’ll have to learn it yourself. You may regret having to find out the hard way.”

“I’m not afraid of hard work.”

She sat on the edge of the desk, swinging a leg as she drew again on the cigarette. There was a scent of clove and the underlying bitterness of seda-t. The leg rocked. Long, pale brown calf, ankle, heel, swing-rock, swing-rock. Sandals. “My offer stands until the case is solved or until they give up and execute Fortunato’s staff. But I have another proposition.”

I felt like a rat mesmerized by a cobra. I forced my eyes to her face. “What?”

“You’ll be interviewing Alkimila Fortunato soon,” she said.

“Seems possible,” I said. “If she’ll talk.”

“You’ll do it today, I think,” she went on. “And she won’t.”

“Sounds like aristoi,” I agreed. “Then what?”

“She’ll have you thrown out.” Swing-rock, swing-rock. “But if you have something to give her … something she wants … perhaps she’ll consent to an interview.”

I gnawed my lower lip. “Well, I don’t, do I?”

She inclined her head. “If I provide what she needs?”

“What is this thing?”

“Just a thing,” she said. “A small present from me to her, let’s call it.”

I put my thumbs in the top of my girdle. “Sounds shady. Sounds illegal.”

She looked hurt. “My dear Dardana, when have I ever been known to do anything illegal?”

I wanted to say, You’re smoking seda-t right now, but I raised my hands in protest. “I didn’t say it was. Sounds. Sounds illegal. So that’s what I get—maybe she’ll talk to me in exchange for this … gift. And I’m the delivery girl. What do you get out of it?”

“Well, Barsina’s contract isn’t worth ten minutes with Alkimila Fortunato.”

“I’d say not,” I said firmly. “I’m fond of her.”

“So I’ll do it out of the goodness of my heart.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Sure, I thought. “What if I decide this arrangement isn’t for me?” I said cautiously.

“That would be a different matter,” she said, lip pushing out disappointedly. “We share a bond through Barsina, and I’d be hurt if my friendly overtures were rejected.” She inhaled and blew smoke. “However … I have … an acquaintance with a problem. Can you help her solve it?”

“Maybe.”

“Let me give you details. She had a girl, her first maid. Grew up with her, you might say. Tank-bred, good ratings, but she never quite measured up and didn’t take to my friend’s … vigorous corrections.”

“Friend or acquaintance?”

“She might become a good friend,” Mama Solene said, eyes fixed on me. I found I couldn’t look away. “She might remain someone I know slightly. It depends.”

“On what?”

“My acquaintance woke up one day and found the girl had run off.”

“A tank-girl?” I sounded incredulous.

“I know! When does that happen? The militia found her, and my acquaintance corrected her until she limped for a month.”

I looked at her stonily.

“Should’ve been the end, but the minx ran off again a few years later. She did a good job, too, my acquaintance said. She stayed low for three months, got her collar off, tried to pass as a citizen, and got odd jobs in agrios vilaĝos. Someone saw a reward poster for her.

“Well, my acquaintance had her retrieved and had her … professionally corrected. And that should have been an end of it, you’d think.”

“You’d think.”

She drew on her smoke and exhaled. “A couple years after, she ran off again.”

“Bad luck,” I said.

Mama Solene spread her hands. “That’s what I said. And she’s stayed … run off. But it turns out my friend—my acquaintance—has a terrible temper, a long memory, and a lovely tree in her garden with a good—solid—branch. When she gets hold of this girl again, she’ll correct her thoroughly—and then hang her off that tree.”

My thumbs were back in the top of my girdle. “I don’t take runaway servant jobs,” I said tightly. “I don’t like them.”

“I don’t want you to,” she said. She reached behind her, opened a drawer, and pulled out an oilskin packet tied around with a waxed cord. “I want this delivered to Alkimila Fortunato.”

She offered it to me.

“Your acquaintance have a name?” I asked.

“Miss Thelumene Testaferrato,” she said.

“I’m afraid I never heard of her,” I said. I took the package and put it in my girdle. It was hardly bigger than a deck of playing cards. “But as a favor to you, businesswoman to businesswoman—and to get Fortunato to talk to me—I’ll be happy to do it.”

“I’m gratified,” she smiled.

( … This way to Chapter 6 Part 1 … ) ( … This way to Chapter 6 part 3 … )