Assassin Mavi - Chapter Two

Mavi was so cold and hungry. The alleyway she had entered came out onto the street in front of the tavern. This was not Zara and Capkin’s cozy place, but a rough, dark place in a very rough neighborhood. She walked in and looked around, her eyes adjusting to the gloom. The clientele seemed to favor black leather. They were an imposing group to be sure, but somehow Mavi did not feel herself in danger inside this place. She was certainly the only gaçi girl here. She pulled her shawl closer around her and bravely made her way across the room towards the bar.

The bartender regarded her coolly. “We don’t use gaçi girls here, miss.” The bartender was a formidable figure, over six feet tall. His hair was close cropped and he wore a long moustache. Various tattoos dotted both of his heavily muscled arms. The only other patron seated at the bar spoke up.

“Osman, give the girl a break. She’s obviously starved and chilled through. Let her come in and get warm.” The speaker wore a long coat and seemed to carry some authority even in this group of toweing individuals.

Mavi swallowed. She spread her five pennies on the counter. “It’s okay. I don’t want to entertain. She thought about her rent and decided food was more important right now. “What can I buy with these?”

“I can get you some bread and tea for that.”

“That will be fine.” She set her basket on the floor and climbed up on one of the barstools, huddling in her wet shawl, watching puddles form on the counter where water dripped from her hair. The bartender, Osman, handed her a towel. Mavi smiled her thanks and mopped up the worst of the water from her hair and face. She felt better being out of the rain. It was quite warm inside. There was a fire in the fireplace, and inviting smells came from the kitchen behind the bar. A small oil lamp illuminated each table. It was nice… dark, but nice.

The man who had spoken up for her sat nursing an ale. A mostly uneaten dinner was pushed to one side. The man turned to regard her. He was dressed in black leather, like the others. The long coat looked wonderfully warm and must have cost a fortune. The garment was open, and beneath she glimpsed lean muscle in black leather leggings tucked into tall boots and a leather tunic. His long dark hair tumbled around his shoulders, rather like Laz’ she thought. He had a goatee and hadn’t shaved in a few days. He was darkly handsome in a dangerous and predatory sort of way she thought. She looked away. Just then her tea and bread arrived and she ate and drank quickly. The tea warmed her and some of her confidence returned. She looked again at the man beside her. He smiled and pushed his uneaten food toward her. “Hungry?” he asked.

Mavi nodded and took the plate before he could change his mind. It was chicken and there were vegetables and more bread. She ate hungrily, not spilling a crumb. Nothing had ever tasted so good. She glanced at her benefactor as she ate. He seemed mildly amused but said nothing as she devoured every morsel.

The plate empty save for a chicken bone, she looked up. “Thank you.”

“You seemed to need the dinner more than I did.” The man picked up his wineglass and moved to occupy the chair next to her. He looked at her, the henna patterns on her hands and bare feet, the bindi on her forehead, the scarf in her hair, her brightly colored garments of thin cotton gauze. She could not be anything other than what she was. She felt decidedly bare and ornamented in this place of somber, dangerous people wearing black leather.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a gaçi girl in here. What brings you to this part of town?”

“I’m here quite by accident. In fact,” Mavi felt like telling the truth, “I’m not quite sure where I am.” She looked around. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much black leather in my entire life.”

The man grinned. “Yes, we do wear a lot of that. Well, you’re lucky. This neighborhood is not a place for a gaçi girl to be wandering about. However, you’ve managed to stumble into about the only safe place around. The Golden Horn is a Dark Guild’s building."

Mavi processed this information. The Dark Guilds, she had heard of them but deemed them more myth than reality. “So they really exist?” She looked more closely at her companion and then swiveled in her seat to regard the other occupants. There were maybe a dozen men and women seated at various tables, drinking, eating and quietly conversing.”

“Yes, they exist. We exist.” The man glanced at the bartender. “Osman -- whisky – six shots – and leave the bottle.” Mavi’s eye’s widened as the man produced a gold piece and set it on the counter. She never saw gold in her baksheesh basket, silver sometimes, but mostly coppers. Whatever this man did, it paid well.

Osman whisked the coin away. “You got it Richard.” Osman’s blue eyes twinkled and his moustache twitched as he produced a dusty bottle of what was obviously a very fine whisky and laid out six clean shot glasses. He poured the first round and set the bottle down.

Mavi sat looking at the shot glasses. Richard picked up a glass and motioned for her to do the same. She did. In Eden it was traditional for the first drink to be a toast.

Richard regarded the golden liquid cupped between his fingers. ”To beauty in unexpected places.” Mavi blushed. She looked at her glass. “To rainy days.”

They drank their shots together. Mavi set her glass down with a thump, turning it over as was customary in Eden. The liquor was so smooth in her throat, like honey – an oaky, smoky sort of honey she amended. It wasn’t until it reached her stomach that the slow burn began. As the core of warmth dissipated, it spread throughout her body. She was warm from the roots of her hair to the tips of her laquered toenails. She shrugged off her shawl and dropped it in the baksheesh basket, revealing the rest of her gaçi girl costume.

A gaçi girl’s clothing was typically a vest in velvet or silk or cotton gauze, laced tight to produce maximum cleavage and cut short to reveal the midriff. The sleeves were typically elbow length with ruffles of some kind at the hem. The skirts were usually worn low on the hips and were long and full and as replete with gathers and ribbon as the girl could afford. Delicate henna patterns usually adorned her hands, wrists, feet and ankles and most gaçi girls wore scarves in their hair and bindis on their foreheads or dotted over the eyebrows. It was an outfit intended to display the female form and leave a proper range of motion for dancing and making music.

Mavi couldn’t help but notice the way Richard appraised her body and that he liked what he saw. She picked up her second shot of whiskey and twirled it in her fingers, watching the liquid sloshing back and forth.

She considered her vow to never sell her body. Prostitution was completely legal throughout Eden and in most of the empire as well. It wasn’t a matter of breaking any laws. Rather, it was about what she would do to make a buck. The reality of life on the streets of Eden was not always pleasant. There had been good times but she thought of how often she had been hungry or cold or wet or tired and it was all rather depressing. She wouldn’t be young and beautiful forever. How could she make the most of what she had right now and save for the years ahead? Not, she reminded herself, that saving anything was easy with her thieving landlord – or one of his minions – Tatary himself was much too fat to creep about in the dark fingering her belongings.

She thought of Capkin and Zara, they had it made. But what of Laz and what of herself? If she sold herself she could maybe keep Laz alive a bit longer, maybe help him somehow. She wasn’t sure.

Mavi considered. She had no education, no husband, no family, no family business to run, nothing but her band and her dancing, which, as much as she loved them, weren’t making much money. She looked at Richard. With customers like this man, she could become wealthy. She thought of all the rent she could pay, food she could buy. Maybe she could even open her own place someday. Her thoughts raced ahead.

She swallowed her second shot in one gulp and turned the glass over with a bang. She had made her decision. She took a deep breath and swiveled in her seat to face Richard, squaring her shoulders, pushing her breasts out against the thin fabric of her costume. “Have you ever wanted a gaçi girl?” She met his gaze, hoping he could somehow read the truth of her soul in her eyes.

“Everyone wants gaçi girls. Wild, wanton dancers of legendary beauty – but not typically whores.” Mavi flushed crimson at the word but said nothing. She was too focused on the potential income. Richard handed her the third shot of whiskey. She drank it and turned it over. Thump. She was determined. She shrugged off any vestiges of modesty and propriety that might be lingering. She reached out her hand and caressed his thigh, lean and well muscled and warm through the soft leather of his leggings.

“I’m taking a new career path. You can have me right now, for, for,” she had no idea what the going rate was, “two of those gold pieces – if you’ve got them.” She sighed. After taking a life, after practically bathing in Garra’s lifeblood, a little sex seemed fairly pedestrian. Even so, her heart thumped wildly as she awaited Richard’s decision.

Richard threw back his third shot of whiskey and turned the glass over, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at her again. Then he dropped his hand to hers where it rested on his thigh and then picked it up. He turned her hand over in his so that it rested palm up. He took two gold pieces from his belt and laid them in her palm. Mavi closed her fist around them. She met his gaze again. He searched her eyes and then smiled.

He stood up, still holding her by the wrist and grabbed the whisky bottle with his free hand. “Let’s go.” With that he pulled her toward the stairs beside the bar, which led to the rooms above.

Mavi glanced at Osman. Being a professional, he pretended to ignore them and what was about to happen. Mavi had the distinct feeling that she had managed to proposition just the right person. Any lesser person in that place and Osman would have summarily tossed her out into the streets. Whoever Richard was he was well respected by the others in the tavern, each of them formidable looking in their own right.

The room upstairs was quite plain, but luxurious by Mavi’s impoverished standards. It contained a bed, table, chair, a fireplace for warmth and light. A pitcher and basin stood on a washstand in the corner. Once the door was closed, he let go her wrist. Mavi laid the coins on the table and rubbed her wrist.

Richard set the whisky bottle on the table and tossed the leather coat over the chair. He pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the coat. His broad shoulders and arms were as beautifully muscled as his legs. He was as lithe as a cat. Over his sharply defined muscles, his skin was smooth except for scars here and there. He had obviously seen a great deal of action. She continued to stand there, not sure what to do next.

“Is there a problem?” Richard asked, folding his arms over his bare chest.

Mavi cleared her throat. “Umm, no, of course not. She motioned toward the whiskey bottle. “I could use some more of that.” She pointed at the whiskey. Richard took a swig and then tossed the bottle to her. She tilted the bottle and drank. Her confidence increased as the whiskey took hold.

She put the bottle on the table. She looked down at herself and pulled at the lacing that held her vest closed. She undid the knot and the laces stretched, allowing the top to open and revealing her full breasts. She looked up at him and met his gaze. The desire was plain in his gray-green eyes.

In one step he closed the distance between them. With surprising force, he grabbed her and pulled her to him. Like a cat seizing its prey, Mavi thought. She gasped involuntarily. He kissed her savagely on the side of her neck, at the base, and a fire shot through her and she moaned in his arms. He pushed her top down off her shoulders and she bit her lip as he kissed a line of fire down to her breasts, caressing them roughly in a way that aroused her tremendously. She knew she would have bruises the next day but she didn’t care. He unbuckled his belt and then picked her up. Instead of putting her on the bed, he pushed her against the wall and lifted her up against him, pushing her skirts up around her hips. She wrapped her legs around him and then he was inside her. Just like that. They could have been standing in any alleyway of the city, just like the whores she had seen on so many dark nights. Then it hit her, she was a whore and he was using her like one – no tenderness, just desire. But it felt so good. She couldn’t think very clearly right now between the whisky and her mingled terror and desire. She let her arms rest limply against the wall over her head. She was conscious of nothing but the intense pleasure radiating from between her legs, the strength of Richard’s body against hers, his touch on her skin.

He slumped against her for a moment, still holding her against the wall. His breath was warm on her cheek; his bare chest hard against the roundness of her breasts and his dark hair was soft on her shoulder. She reached up one hand to touch a lock of his hair. Then he set her down gently and looked at her.

“Mavi Mavi. What are you doing here? You’re no whore.” Richard dropped one hand to her breasts, the other holding her by the small of the back. He explored her body with his hands, touching the arch of her throat, caressing her jawline. Her hair was dry now and spread out in a dark cloud around her head. “Beautiful” He whispered softly.

When he released her, Mavi found she could not stand. She slid down the wall to sit on the floor, back against the wall, her torso bare and glowing with sweat, her top hanging off her shoulders, her knees drawn up against her chest, her skirts pooling between her spread legs, hands and chin resting on her knees, utterly spent.

Richard sat down on the floor beside her. He had the whiskey bottle. They passed it between them, sipping in silence.

Mavi cleared her throat. “What happens now?”

“Now I kick you out.”

Mavi flushed. Richard saw her face. “It’s nothing personal. I’d like to have you all night long but I have to go to work. Garra wasn’t my only contract today.”

“Oh, I see.” Mavi actually felt disappointed. A night with Richard would be well, intense, to say the least. She stood up, lacing her top and smoothing her skirts. Then, feeling bold and still a bit giddy from recent events she asked, “Can I go with you?”

Richard was genuinely surprised. She thought she caught something like respect in his gaze. “What? You haven’t seen enough blood today?”

“I’m not sure. I just, I guess, it’s different. Different from my gaçi girl life.”

He considered. “Why not. Come along. There aren’t any guild rules against it as long as I get the job done.” Richard pulled on his shirt and buckled his leggings. “And, here.” He opened the purse and pulled out five gold pieces.” Mavi’s eyes widened but she took the money. “You’re worth way more than two – just so you know – for future reference.”

Mavi smiled. But then she had a thought. She didn’t want to go down those stairs past Osman and the others in the front room. They would know and she wasn’t ready to share what had happened – not just yet. “Is there a back way out of here?”

“In a dark guild hangout? There’s usually more than one back way.” Richard led her down some backstairs and out through the tavern stables.

Safely out on the street, having avoided the knowing gazes of Osman and anyone else, Mavi felt much better. Her shawl was reasonably dry and the food and drink had much improved her disposition. And the gold pieces in her pocket filled her with confidence.

Richard led her through the streets. It did occur to her that Richard could easily murder her and take back the money. But, she had little choice for the moment. At last the streets were hers, and she knew her way. She decided to just disappear. She slipped off sideways and left Richard to his work, whatever that was.

She made straight for her room. It was after midnight but maybe the landlord wouldn’t be too mad about his rent being late.

Tatary was a large man and lived on the first floor of the tenement house he owned. It seemed to Mavi that he never slept. He was always awake, counting his money, watching to see who came and went. He was a thief and a liar but Mavi had little choice. As a mere gaçi girl, she could afford little else. Now she proudly presented him with one of her gold pieces. “My rent, six months in advance.” Tatary eyed the coin eagerly, but suspiciously. He weighed it and tasted it and determined that it was, in fact, real. That done he slipped the coin into a fold of his robe.

“Where does a gaçi girl get gold pieces? Not in this neighborhood.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at her shrewdly, appraisingly.

“I have some wealthy fans.” Mavi would say no more. It was certainly none of his business. She despised the man and preferred to spend as little time as possible in his presence.

Tatary’s thin lips curled into an ugly smile. He tapped his fingers on the table. “Very well.” He nodded. She was dismissed. Mavi ducked out of his chambers and climbed the three flights of stairs to her room.

She threw herself on the mattress on the floor, her only furniture, and slept. It had been a very long day.