Page 58 of The Shadow of Breninsol
The upstairs of the pub was Valen’s personal living quarters and reserved solely for a select few. No one went up there uninvited, except for that one time she’d been up there. Eleanor’s sharp eye darted around the room, noting the patrons sitting at the tables, whose hands were itching towards their weapons, and the wary eyes looking at the only exit more than once.
Eleanor didn’t know much about the gang leader, except he liked to smoke a pipe, and he liked leather. He must do, otherwise she did not know why he constantly wore it. His leather trousers were tucked into his boots and his leather waistcoat had shining silver buckles. His long-coat wasn’t made of warm cotton or expensive silks, instead it was made of worn leather. With his lapels flipped up, covering the back of his neck, his doubled cuffs showed a brocade lining.
Valen’s dark eyes met hers as he gave a few low words to the big bald man and jerked his head. Her stomach sunk even though she was getting what she’d come here for: an audiencewith the underworld king. She felt uncertain about the outcome of the meeting, particularly because she had to make a strange request.
Done with issuing his orders, Valen walked with a cocky assuredness to the opposite wall, where a table was surrounded by a semi-circle shaped partition. The man with half his head shaved sat at the empty table outside the partition, while Valen sat inside and looked at ease, ready to hold his court at the round table.
The bald goon who’d moved to carry out Valen’s orders was getting closer to her small table. She took a steady sip of her ale, allowing the bitterness to settle her and the casual act to show her indifference, while the surrounding tables silenced, fearful they’d gain the attention of the underworld king. Chairs squeaked as they edged away, as if being in Valen’s Second’s eyesight would bring the unwanted attention of their ruler.
The bald goon stopped at her small table. “Boss wants a word,” he grumbled.
Hushed conversations picked back up to try to hide the wave of relief rippling through the pub. Tonight, they were free from Valen’s scrutiny. The crackling fire concealed the conversations, but she could sense all eyes following her as she grabbed her ale and walked across the pub. She wasn’t sure whether her little show at the bar constituted as breaking one of Valen’s laws. Regardless, she kept her face impassive, and her head held straight, as she passed the long table, directly in front of Valen’s area, where more of his men sat.
Both of Valen’s Seconds were now sitting at the tables on either side of his partition, his set up ensuring no one would disturb him.
“Valen,” Eleanor greeted the crime lord as she entered his space and dropped the dirty white handkerchief with athunkonto the table as she took the seat to the side. She wasn’t giving this room her back.
“Nora,” he greeted in return, making her lips quirk.
She’d told him the name she used in The Ladies Grace. It wasn’t such a rare name she’d be easy to find, but Valen had said that “Eleanor” didn’t suit someone he was sending out as his assassin. She didn’t understand why he thought “Nora” fitted her better, but she knew better than to ask.
Valen unwrapped a leather-bound bundle, revealing a small bag, an oval bronze tin, flint, and steel, and a few items she didn’t recognise. Eleanor took a sip from her ale, knowing that this was Valen’s way. He discussed business while smoking, and no one could rush him. If she thought a blade could speed this up, she’d have used one by now. He had his wooden pipe in his scarred hands, knocked it a few times against his palm and peered into it. Satisfied his pipe was empty, he sucked on it a few times, letting a strange rattle come from the empty pipe.
“What brings you downstairs?” she asked as she took a gulp of the bitter ale.
Vanilla-infused smoke perfumed the air between them as Valen opened the bag. He held his pipe at its stem and scooped the bowel into the bag of leaves.
“Business,” he answered, as he kept scooping leaves into the pipe’s chamber and bringing it out to tap the tobacco down with his finger and nail, making sure it was solidly packed.
“Sure you weren’t getting lonely up there?” Eleanor said as Valen put the pipe between his lips and sucked. His lips twitched and he opened the bronze tin, which contained some char cloth.
“I could ask you the same,” he replied, putting his pipe in his mouth. Valen folded up some char cloth against the flint and struck it with the steel. It sparked with practised ease.
His whole attention seemed to be on lighting his smoking pipe, but Eleanor knew better.
“Luckily for you, I’m down here with the sewer rats, scurrying around in the darkness,” Eleanor said, watching him hovering the burning ember on the cloth over the tobacco while sucking on the pipe.
The way he gently let the ember kiss the leaves as he simultaneously dragged air into the pipe was like a lover, so soft and tender. He chuckled as smoke started to come out of his mouth, and he kept dragging in the smoke, letting the ember come to the tobacco. “One day, Nora, you’re going to wish you were up there in the brightness.”
Eleanor rubbed the rim of the glass mug. “I don’t think it’d suit me. I like my darkness too much.”
Satisfied that his tobacco leaves had caught enough of a burn, he waved and patted the cloth out. “You might find you don’t have a choice in the matter. Sometimes we’re forcibly shoved into the light.”
She took a swig of ale and smirked. “No one forces me to do anything.”
“I know. I’m still trying to recruit you, but” —he gave her a self-deprecating look— “for your sake, I hope that’s true.”
Valen had tried to recruit her many times, but she’d respectfully declined, preferring to be a free agent. Of course, that meant she didn’t have the protection he was offering, and she was on her own when she killed. He didn’t say it, but he wouldn’t help her if she were caught. She would be on her own, but that suited her. She didn’t need others to complicate her life.
Trix saved her from having to answer. She walked brazenly into his inner sphere and placed a foaming ale on the table in front of him and, without saying a word, she sashayed away.
“Heard you had a little tussle down here,” Valen said. He watched as Trix moved to serve the next patron from behind the bar.
Eleanor recognised the question’s gravity. “Your bar wasn’t hurt, if that’s what you were worried about. Not even a drop of blood was spilled on it.”
“You sound disappointed.”
Eleanor ignored his comment. He knew she preferred violence, and she wanted to get to the point of their meeting. “Who am I killing this time?”
