Free Court Wizard (Spellmonger Series: Book 8) by Terry Mancour Page B

who are left after most departed last summer, and teaching them civilized manners.  An act of godly charity, would you not say?”
    “Oh, yes, Excellency, if that is all they are,” the constable chuckled wickedly.  “Perhaps you teach them all sorts of those intriguing things I hear about those temples in the Southlands.  I heard that you were in one, yourself,” he added, eyeing her obscenely.  “I don’t object to such practices at all, but I want to ensure the security of your house.  Such places must be . . . inspected. ”
    “And what kind of inspection would you propose, Constable?” Lady Pleasure asked, invitingly, as she sprawled on the couch across from him.
    “Oh, a simple examination of the wares , and the occasional sample, to ensure quality,” he proposed, cocking one crow-like eye at her.  Ishi hated crows.  Wretched birds.  They were the totem animal of her sister,
    “And who would the palace designate as the inspector, Sir Constable?”
    “Oh, I think that such a grave duty falls to no less person than the Constable of Vorone.  Indeed, it is in the charter that the officer administer all such places of . . . amusement ,” he said, sloshing the delicate tea around the rare glass like it was cheap grog before finishing it.  A detestable man of low breeding and high entitlement.  “A few auxiliary passes might not go awry, if you want your place to stay out of the office’s eyes.”
    “Yes, I’m thinking that being in your eye is a very poor idea, Sir Constable,” Ishi agreed.  As usual, the idiot mistook her declaration for submission, not as a challenge. 
    “Quite right Baroness.  I’m the last man you want against you in Vorone.  I can be your best friend, or I can be your worst enemy.  Just give me and my gentlemen a few evenings a month, and I’m sure we can overlook any official unpleasantries.”
    As Ishi and Elspeth watched the nasty little man leave from the deck above, Elspeth shook her head in disgust.
    “Are you really going to let the likes of him paw at poor Andrette and Ilsie?”
    “He claims to want to inspect the girls for their worthiness, to determine their quality . . . when he has no concept of quality himself.  No, Elspeth, that is not the kind of man we can do business with.  He’s the kind of man who continues to take and take until he feels entitled to take everything.”
    “So what do we do about him, Mum?  Complain to the Baron?”
    “Edmarin’s life won’t survive the new year, Elspeth.  But the Constable shall predecease him.  That tea you prepared?  Mountain hibiscus, white oleander and black lily stem, from the high country lakes.  Separately they are harmless, even a bit bitter.  Together, in the proper proportions, at the proper heat, they release a slow-working toxin.  If he does not receive the antidote, within three days the man’s liver will fail, his eyes will turn yellow, and he will begin acting like a madman for a few brief, destructive hours before his heart finally fails him.”
    “But you do have the antidote, Mum?” Elspeth asked, desperately.
    “I do, Kitten.  But he will never see it.”
    That afternoon, a second gentleman arrived.  This one wore a fashionable southern-style aristocratic long coat over his doublet and hose, not a surcoat and mantle in the local style.  But though his fashion was impeccable, denoting just the right amount of class and sophistication, the man within the clothes was every bit as vile as the Constable.  Worse.
    “Baroness,” he said, giving a curt nod.  “I have heard you plan to open a brothel, here.”
    “I am considering many business opportunities,” she countered, reasonably.  “You are, Sir?”
    “I am . . . you may call me Master Luthar.  I am well-known in the precinct.”
    “Ah, yes, your reputation precedes you,” smiled Lady Pleasure.  He was the leader of the local thugs.  “Tea?”
    “No, thank you.  You said you were open to business