The Unseen Hand

Ch 19: The Grinding Wheel

Mir'kadi, Tenth of Sund'im, 445 A'A'diel

The traders were well into their haggling when Eskander reined his charger onto Ardaran Road. Two and three-story buildings butted up against each other along the thoroughfare like the walls of an angular canyon. The ringing of tinkers' hammers echoed off the white plastered façades, a shrill counterpoint to the clamorous buzz of negotiations. It was midday and Tinker's Notch was crowded with throngs of customers seeking the district's artisanal wares.

Eskander rode down the boulevard; the steady hoof beats of his stallion heralding his presence. His tunic bore the ochre and sky-blue checkered pattern of the Ca'Dezer Cavalry, the uniform assured his unhindered progress more than the iron-shod hooves of his warhorse. The crowd parted before him like a school of baitfish around a gliding shark.

Various aromas vied for attention. The spicy scent of roasting meats roused hungry bellies while imported Terranakan perfumes enraptured the senses. Paid shills sang out promises of quality and low prices, tailoring their spiels to the passersby like fishermen angling for the big catch.

Eskander spurred his horse into a canter as he turned into a less crowded street. The pale stones of Therander Lane gleamed in the morning sunlight, creating a magnificent path that ascended straight from Tinker's Notch into the heart of Gavalene Hill. Unlike the Tangles, where decades of dirt clung to the buildings, the villas that lined the winding streets of Gavalene reflected the sun's brilliance.

Eskander's destination, the Grinding Wheel, was an inn that straddled the border between the privileged elite of Gavalene and the sweaty plebeians of the craftsmen's ward. Originally, the building had housed an upper-class hostel known as Gentry's Rest. The previous owner, a disgraced noble, had sold the establishment to a curskin whoremonger as a farewell insult to his former peers.

As Eskander steered his horse along the side of the inn, a grubby boy emerged from the stables. "May I take your horse, sir?" the boy asked, straightening his hat.

"Stabling won't be necessary," Eskander said, tossing the boy a copper coin. "However, I would appreciate it if you would keep Phraxes here company while I go inside."

The stablehand tucked the coin into his patched jerkin and tipped his hat. "Yes, sir, gladly."

Eskander took off his embossed, steel helm and handed it to the boy. He adjusted his scale armor with a few short tugs and smoothed back his sandy brown locks.

The Grinding Wheel was built in the revival style that had fallen from fashion a hundred years prior. The exaggerated curves of its gabled roof were a stark contrast to the symmetry and square proportions of neighboring homes. It had been years since the weather-stained walls, and mossy alcoves had received any attention. Above the sweeping veranda that ran the length of the inn, the establishment's namesake hung from a chain. It was a worn blacksmith's wheel covered with chipping scarlet paint that advertised the building's ignoble purpose. The Grinding Wheel was one of Reyza's most notorious brothels.

Inhaling deeply, Eskander straightened his shoulders and strode up the steps that led to the tiled porch. He placed a hand upon the brothel's wooden door and paused to look around. Across the street, curious onlookers assessed his intentions. Eskander narrowed his eyes and glared at them with such vehemence that all but small children cringed before moving on with their business.

Eskander pushed open the door with chagrin. The Grinding Wheel was the last place he wanted to be seen entering.

The interior of the brothel was as posh as the outer façade was distressed. Eskander stepped into the wide, vaulted foyer. Mahogany walls soared up to a dome inlaid with jade. Brocade curtains shielded the parlor from daylight, imbuing the room with an intimate ambiance. Tendrils of rillweed smoke swirled between the wooden pillars and curled around the fronds of ferns planted in marble urns. Music emanated from a second-floor balconette where an unseen trio of musicians strummed a tranquil melody.