The Heavenly Lord’s Ambassador. A Kingdom Like No Other. Book 1. Андрей Кочетков
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was going bald young, and his shaven cheeks oozed with the lazy hauteur that earned the Vuravians so much dislike throughout the Empire.
His companion was much taller and dressed in a Torgendam deerskin tunic that stretched tight across his powerful back and revealed the rock-like muscles of his arms. His face betrayed his roots in the Empire’s heartland, with an oval face, dark, slightly curly hair, and a striking nose above a stubborn mouth and a solid chin. With two broad leather straps across his chest and a massive leather belt, he obviously knew how to circumvent the rule that civilians were not allowed to wear armor. The same could be said about his knee-high boots, which, by the sound of them, had soles reinforced with nails. Such boots were a convenient place to hide a long Seregad dagger as sharp and strong as an axe. The only thing spoiling his physical perfection – which was capable of piercing the heart of any Enteverian woman enamored of male display – was the look of boredom on his face.
“How long do we have to keep walking like this?” Vordius finally asked. He had to catch up to Sorgius so he could whisper properly, and it was a miracle he managed to avoid stepping on his friend’s flapping pants.
“Stay calm, old man, stay calm. We have to get into our roles so that nobody recognizes us,” and he wrinkled his nose at a beggar boy. Vordius gave the boy a shove for good measure. “See!” Sorgius rejoiced. “You’re getting the hang of it!”
“You look like a clown,” Vordius grumbled. “Let’s go straight to the Lotus. I’m starving!”
“I knew it would end like this,” his companion sighed and led the way.
When they reached their destination, they saw that there were lotus petals scattered on three sides, as advertised (they couldn’t see the fourth side of the tavern, because it backed up to the water). There were three rows of galleries where guests could enjoy the fresh air surrounded by bronze statues and dark red lamps that were lit when the sun went down. The hum of stringed instruments and the reedy sound of flutes and a tarbon wafted out of the tavern. It was still early, and the most interesting entertainment was yet to come.
Sorgius chose a highly visible table on the middle terrace and, moving like an arrogant monkey, made himself comfortable on the sofa. Vordius sat next to him, a strained look on his face. He wanted to call loudly for food and drink, but he had forgotten to ask his more experienced companion (who was supposedly well-versed in the ways of the criminal underworld) whether or not such behavior suited his role.
“Stay still,” whispered Sorgius, as if he could read minds. “We have been noticed already.”
It was true. A waiter appeared out of thin air, as if he had an invisible door next to their table.
“What will you be having?”
He was a weasely man with a sharp nose and a toothy grin. Vordius stared at the list of dishes, but Sorgius was in no hurry. He let his eyes wander over to the river, as if he were too deep in thought to consider what he wanted to eat.
The waiter cleared his throat, looked the newcomers over, and said, “I’m pleased to greet you, dear guests! Our tavern is delighted to offer you…”
Vordius was having trouble locating on the menu the dishes the waiter reeled off when suddenly something hit his left leg hard. Finally guessing what Sorgius wanted, he interrupted the gastronomic monologue.
“Stop flapping your tongue like a fish in a bucket. You see who we are. Bring us the best of everything, and quick!” he waved his hand in front of the man’s face.
Suitably impressed, the waiter disappeared. To Vordius’ surprise, the best of everything at the Lotus was just as good as what one might find at the finest restaurants in Enteveria. Duck in lemon sauce, roast pig with a sauce of nuts and dried apricots, and a fantastic plate of fried fish of all sizes – these were just a few of the dishes the Lotus served to solid deal-makers. No one was expected to eat it all. The custom was to try at least six or seven dishes, sip as many varieties of wine, and then lean back on the sofa to discuss serious business over the delicious morsels left on the table.
Sorgius and Vordius decided not to deviate from that custom, all the more so since Sorgius could definitely afford it. They attacked their food with the naked zest for life that was typical of men with practical minds and violent hearts, men who sleep with one eye open and know the value of each second of life. After trying a dish of deer meat in lingonberry sauce, Vordius leaned back with a cup of red wine and almost choked in surprise. A stranger had taken a seat at their table. The man had deep wrinkles on his forehead and was radiating the kind of smile a child shows a dish of honey ice cream before devouring it.
“Allow me to introduce myself, dear Enels! I am Quandius Sapheley, the manager of this fine establishment. When I heard that we had such discerning guests with us tonight, I wanted to make sure that everything is to your liking.”
Sorgius put on a polite smile and exchanged basic pleasantries with the man.
“Agrisoban? Never heard of it,” Sapheley murmured as he poured himself a cup of wine.”
“All of Vuravia knows of the region now that my family has established peace and order there,” Sorgius proudly proclaimed.
“Of course, the breadbasket of Vuravia. I should have guessed,” and the manager winked at Vordius, who was doing his best imitation of a statue, and took another sip of wine. “But Old Frizey keeps a tight leash on things. I suppose you are in well with him?”
Sorgius grimaced. “Old Frizey used to be the biggest merchant in our parts, but he died three years ago, and his trade is now in the hands of the three Big Kinsmen who are like this” – he clasped his two hands together – “with Dracasium Nerey! My family answers to Kinsman Koshtey. My name is Grishtan Akroerty, and I’m here on business. This is Ihliy Hazo, my bodyguard.”
Vordius nodded grimly.
“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” purred Sapheley. “You can find people looking to buy and sell just about anything here. But please remember, if you strike a deal here, the establishment takes a share as a commission. It helps us keep up the menu,” he smiled sheepishly.
“The menu!” Sorgius laughed rudely. “Ihliy, people in these parts have a sense of humor!” He turned back to the manager, “How much?”
“A quarter of the transaction. And if it’s your first time here, we charge a modest fee up front, and the amount is negotiable.”
“That Asp is nobody’s fool, is he? Or is it all going in your own pocket, friend?”
The fawning smile disappeared from the manager’s face like crumbs blown off the table. Now they stared back at a heavy-set thug with the eyes of a butcher.
“Who told you about Fire Asp?”
“Told me about him?” Sorgius narrowed his eyes. “He’s the man we came to see.” There was an uncomfortable pause, so he went on. “My older brother’s wife is from the Mraheli family, and her sister, Vlaseney Krivo, the one who lives in Gorgendia, is married to Mercius Ahery, whose cousin is a lawyer named Mezolo. He’s the one who put us in touch with his kinsman, the barber Taney.” Here, Sorgius looked around at the other tables. “Where is that Taney, by the way? The old rogue promised to introduce me to Fire Asp!”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Sapheley replied dryly. “Although, I did expect to see Taney here tonight. What business did you want to discuss? Fire Asp doesn’t often talk to strangers in person.”
“I know he doesn’t,” Sorgius said, calmly looking the man in the eye. “But I think he’ll be interested in what I have to say. I’ll eat my sandals if anyone else in this harbor of vice controls a certain trade the way my family does.”
The man thought for a moment. “Are you looking to place a large order? Vuravians usually do.”
“You can rest assured that it will be a very big order!” Sorgius assured him. “We are the only ones trading this way in our city, and Kinsman Koshtey likes