L.E.Y. 3252

Ivy.

"... precisely as you predicted, it pains me to admit," the balding man said in scandalized tones. "And his appearance—most dreadful! His clothes and person were horribly stained and torn, as if he had been ... fighting ... just before he arrived!"

"How frightfully awkward," the diminutive woman sitting across from him in the private drawing room responded, one gloved hand going to her mouth in astonishment. I smirked from the sidelines where I slouched patiently for their meeting to come to an end. She wasn't the worst play-actor.

"Thoroughly awkward, I assure you," the man said, shaking his head. "He begged, I say, begged a fortnight's stay on the loan and assured me in the strongest terms that I would have my sum.

"What did you do?" she gasped.

"What could I say?" he sniffed, mopping his bald head with a handkerchief. "He didn't have any money, so I threatened him with debtor's prison and gave him the time as an extension of magnanimity. It took courage to show at all, I suppose, but this new low was most unexpected."

The woman, my employer, looked away and gathered her skirts as if flustered by his words. As if they were as shocking as they were indelicate. Not a bad actor at all, actually.

"All the more reason to take my warning to heart, Lord Baronet," she said, after a pause commensurate with the gravity of the scandal. "As you know, my reputation—well, I do not speak of that—only, it did give me some insight into what the man is about, and I never would have presumed to advise you but that you have been such a dear friend to my family, and for the fact that I know with certainty that the shipment from Antondeak, on which he depends, will never arrive."

"So you have explained. I do not pretend to understand it, but his circumstances are dire, to be sure," the baronet sighed. "I abhor a welsher above all things, and will do what I must."

She nodded gravely, dabbing at one eye with theatrical modesty.

"I appreciate the courtesy you do me, Maid Orluz, as well as the considerable risk taken in doing so, and will consider your words with utmost confidence." My eyes widened at hearing her name for the first time. So. My anonymous employer was none other than the affronted damsel from Brother Tully's tale; that explained a few things.

He stood and gathered his gloves and cane.

"There can be no risk for one such as I—used and discarded to ruin and infamy." She sighed, laying it on a bit thick, now, to cover for the baronet's indiscretion. "I meet you in secrecy not for my sake, but yours; were it to be known that you were meeting with one such as I, whose faults are aired in public, and whose slain fiancé was under such a shameful curse—" Her voice faltered and broke off as she hid her face in her hands. "It is all so much to bear."

The baronet gave me an embarrassed glance. The servant standing next to me may as well have been a potted plant for all the nobleman cared, but he wasn't so sure what to make of me.

"Well, yes," he dissembled, "Shameful, though you are not to blame, of course." His eyes flickered to the promised reprieve of the room's only door.

"Forgive me, Sir Divon," she said at last, dabbing at her eyes again with her kerchief. "I'm afraid I've kept you too long, and there isn't any more I can tell you."

"Not at all, Miss Orluz," he said, adding a belated "there, there."

"Thamine will show you out. I am sure no one will see you leave by the side door at this hour."

"Of course," he said, standing and wiping his pate again for good measure, making the gesture something of a bow. "If I can help ease your ..." His words trailed into silence, as he realized just how insincere they were. For a member of his station, association with my employer was now as socially dangerous as playing make-a-look with a basilisk.

Imagining the bald knight turned to stone while hunching over—hands open around that barmy pursed face people make for babies—cracked me up. I barked a laugh in the uncomfortable silence, drawing all three sets of eyes.

"Sorry," I snickered, thumping my chest. "Something in my throat."

Maid Orluz rolled her eyes and gestured to her maid. "Thamine, show Sir Divon to the side door. I'd like to have a word with the specialist." 

The maid jumped to comply and escorted the muttering knight out of the room, leaving me alone with the terror of House Orluz. She was short and delicate for a human, with a nose that turned up with childlike innocence. Raven hair and eyes were of such contrast with her creamy skin she looked like a painting. And she was young; much, much younger than the seasoned manipulator I had been expecting.

What business does this child have hiring cutters? Jealousy? Teen angst?  I'd already killed five or six men for her coin. Hired swords all, and maybe only years or months sooner than they would have died otherwise, but still ....

I cursed Clasicant under my breath. Woulda been seven dead today, but that this girl didn't want it over too soon. Wants me to twist the knife a little, first. What did you do to her, you sparking bastard?

"So," she informed me coldly, at last, "you are the mercenary."

"Ivy," I confirmed, "and you are the famous Maid Balina of House Orluz."

"Sparking man," she cursed, glaring at the door that had taken Divon away. "I told him not to use my name, and only allowed you to stay because it pertained to your errand today."

"Of course," I smirked, "but if you've got coin and a grudge, I don't much care who you are or what your reputation is."

"You're shorter than I expected," she observed.

"And before tonight, I assumed you were a man," I returned with a shrug. "We should've met sooner."

"I have my reasons," she snapped, "though that hardly matters now. Why did my handmaid choose you, I wonder? You're not his type."

Thamine hadn't exaggerated her mistress' mean streak. I was on thin ice. My own temper was volatile, and I didn't want to lose this job.

"I suspect I was the only tilwen wench at the roundup," I answered, civil. "We all look alike, you know."

"Hardly!" the woman laughed. "Tilwenii are like snowflakes, isn't that what they say? Every one uniquely beautiful?" The dubious look she gave me left me on the point of simmering.

"Same as any living thing," I grumbled, surprised this girl took such a progressive view of my people.

"So tell me, Miss Ivy," she continued, "how is it you've sought me out, after Thamine made my wish for anonymity known to you?" Bitch better lose the triumph in her voice...

"I thought you might feel differently," I said, "once you see the information I have." And I prefer to see my employers face to face, I thought, in case they need killing down the road...

"We shall see," she said, motioning me toward a plush couch.

I sat awkwardly. I had been very rich from time to time myself, but there was just something about old money that put a stone in my boot.

Wasn't old money that kept you locked up as a kid, Ivy, I told myself.

No, I conceded, but it was old money that had made it possible.

This family had long hoarded its treasure in velvet, gilding, fine carpets and plate; expensive paper on the walls and the fabulous house that held them. My innermost self rejected such a place. I could change my accent, shift my clothes, comb my hair and even wash more than my hands and face, but I would never be right in a house so obviously built on the backs of the masses.

"Grand house," I remarked.

"It belongs to my mother ... for now," she answered, offering tea from a nearby tray.

"I'm fine," I refused. Never understood why anyone would drink bitter city water. "I had a few shots before following your girl back from the pub."

"How marvelous for you," she said, a twinkle in her eye. "My mother doesn't let me go to such places. They must be devilishly fun."

"I reckon," I confirmed warily. I liked rough pubs, but I couldn't imagine this pretty, somewhat rebellious lady-to-be in the Belching Buccaneer. Her innocence and the aroma of money would make her an instant target. Her looks would make it lethal.

I let the conversation hang, though. She didn't want me poking holes in her fancies.

"To business, then," she said with a disappointed frown, after studying me for a time. "I tasked Thamine to place an agent in intimate proximity to Lord Clasicant—I know it is your Flowering holiday—have you been successful already?"

"In a sense," I said, keeping irritation from my voice. I hadn't been successful in quite the way she implied, and was hesitant to admit it. "Clasicant made his meeting, as you know, but I do have the bank note he intended for the Baronet." I handed the stained note over to her and her dark eyes gleamed with delight.

"That worked out as well as I could have wished. Divon is deliciously furious and didn't believe Rip—Lord Clasicant—had been robbed for an instant ... Is this—blood?" she asked, eyes wide.

"I arranged to save Clasicant's life from street thugs," I explained, "and he may have bled on it a little. It's still legible, and with a forger to countersign you are 1500 scales richer..."

I trailed off in confusion as the girl passed the note in front of her face, inhaling deeply, eyelids fluttering. The Girl really likes money.

"And he will be that much poorer," she smiled, recovering her composure and setting the note in an open box on the end table. "I have someone who takes care of that sort of thing for me, but you could have given that to Thamine. What else?"

I produced the ancient parchment, blood-soaked and punctured.

"While he was in my power, I found this confidential letter on Clasicant's person," I said, letting her jet eyes linger hungrily before passing it to her. Its destroyed state enhanced the frail skin's mystery. "It describes how Lord Clasicant's ancient obsession with a woman created a love triangle and ill feelings between himself and his particular friend, one Pertuli Ill'Enniniess."

She started at the mention of the knight's name, but when I paused for explanation, she only motioned me to continue.

"I do not know where this woman is now," I said, "but I encountered her briefly a century ago. She is exceptionally beautiful, even by tilwen standards, and even then he was smitten with her. It seems she has left the city, but the fact that he was carrying this note today indicates that he is still enthralled."

Orluz's cheeks reddened as she read the letter, and her eyes smoldered like dark fire. Clasicant might not be the only one.

"Isn't something like this ... unusual?" she asked, a husky mix of rage and frustration in her voice. "I have gotten to know a few Tilwen well in recent years, and I was led to believe that someone like Clasicant could in no way have a lasting fascination for ... anyone."

'Least of all me,' I finished for her, silently.

"It seems, mistress, that Clasicant is a special kind of fool," I observed drily. "He is obsessive about his passions, and doesn't hold with tradition."

"You knew him, didn't you?" Orluz asked, searching my face and showing a surprising amount of intuition for one so young. "Before today?"

"You might say that," I said, ignoring a swirl of memories. "I have my own reasons to wish him nothing but pain and pestilence."

"Interesting," she smiled, a reptilian gleam in her eyes. "We shall have to talk about this further. In the future, you will report to me, here. Day or night you will have what you wish, and I will make sure Mr. Gates knows you are to be admitted."

"Thank you, m'lady," I said. It seemed my employment had just been extended, but I didn't intend to be cheap. "My fee–"

"I don't want to hear figures," she said, lifting her chin. "Price is no object. In fact, here is a retainer." She handed Clasicant's bank note back to me. "I daresay you can make even better use of this than I, as I will be coming into an inheritance soon."

"Yes, mistress," I said, genuinely surprised. Together with the second note I'd retained, I controlled a very large amount of Clasicant's fortune. There was a brief silence while I pondered the lifestyle that could be bought with 2250 scales and Balina Orluz thought about whatever it was she desired.

"Tell me, could she be found, this exceptional beauty?" she asked at last.

"Don't see why not," I shrugged. "Woman like that can't hide, and tilwen are conspicuous wherever they go."

"Find her," she commanded. "Once you have finished the other tasks Thamine gave you, I want you to find this 'Tyella' and bring her back here. We shall see how Lord Clasicant enjoys having his own heartstrings cut." The way she said 'cut' had a decidedly violent undertone.

Before I could react to this demand, my employer's maidservant reentered the room.

"What is it, Thamine?"

"Forgive the intrusion, mistress," she said, her face pale. Her eyes darted nervously at me and then away. "Your mother's Tilwen friend sends compliments and regrets for the late hour, but begs the indulgence of a moment of your time." 

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A/N: I don't usually leave notes on individual sections, but wanted to let readers know, that I've edited this section in place with entirely new material, because hey, why lose the anonymous reads and votes? 

Previously, this section was "The Lackey," a brief story of how Ivy duped Thamine and followed her back to the Orluz mansion. While amusing (for me, anyway), it was entirely unnecessary to the story, and it's summed up here with a line or two. Please let me know if you think this made the story better. 

And please read, even if Wattpad tells you you've read before—this chapter hasn't been published previously. Of course, if you haven't already voted, please do.  —MTM  XD