soon as you heard about your whore. And here you are, as predictable as time!”
Christian tried to get up, but he could not move. He couldn’t even see clearly. All of his senses were off; Thorne’s voice sounded first in front of him, then off to the side. Christian sensed another presence standing behind him, but he couldn’t make himself roll over to see.
“Let him speak,” Thorne said, and Christian felt the tightness that locked his throat suddenly ease, allowing him to groan.
“I am curious, Lazarus, as to what you intended in coming here. I’m not the one who harmed your whore.”
“You pimped her out,” Christian snarled. He tried to push himself up again, but his arms would hold no weight.
“So I did,” Thorne replied. “But what of that? She was pimped out long before I came on the scene.”
“Where is she?”
“Topside, and you should be thanking me for that. You know the survival rate for whores down here.”
Christian wrenched himself from the ground, his breath shrieking through his teeth with the effort. He made it two inches, then collapsed, all the strength running out of him.
“I told you to hold him!” Thorne snapped.
“I am,” the woman’s cool voice answered behind Christian. “But he’s a fighter.”
Of course I’m a fighter, Christian began to say, then stopped, for she had not been talking about the ring. And now Christian realized who the unseen speaker must be: Thorne’s witch, the fabled white woman of the Creche, who killed men with a single glance. Christian had never believed the stories, but now he was fast reconsidering. Each of his muscles seemed to be clamped in its own vise.
“I’m going to bind you now,” Thorne told him. “You may struggle if you wish, but it will avail you little. Brenna saw you coming. She always does. She would end you if I allowed it.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?”
“Oh, you’re much too valuable to kill, Lazarus. Arliss has put two hundred pounds on your head, and he’ll be along presently to collect you. That’s why I don’t mind you listening behind doors.”
“Arliss?” Christian asked stupidly. He had forgotten all about the dealer.
“Brenna says you’re clever, but I think not. Attacking the biggest poppy man in the Creche? What could you possibly hope to gain?”
“It wasn’t about gain.”
“No? Then you are a fool.” Thorne began to bind his ankles. Christian could not even move a muscle to try to fight him.
Blindsided. This is what it feels like. At last I know.
“Who was Maura’s client?” he asked Thorne. “Who marked her up?”
“And why should I tell you that?”
“Because whoever he is, he damaged the merchandise. Bad for business.”
Thorne paused, his arms braced on his knees, and gave Christian an odd, speculative look.
“That’s true, you know. I don’t like the beaters. Don’t understand them. I don’t know why they can’t simply take the fuck they paid for and be done. Transaction is efficient. Violence is waste.”
“So give me the beater’s name. I’ll rid the earth of him.”
Thorne chuckled. “Bold words, Lazarus. But once Arliss gets here, you’ll be in no position to storm the Keep. It’ll be all you can do to pray for a swift death.”
The Keep. Christian seized on the words, making no murmur as Thorne began binding his wrists. Christian knew little of the Keep, only that it was where the royals lived, a giant pile of stone somewhere in the city. But if Maura was there, then there Christian would have to go.
I have to live, he thought grimly. I have to live somehow, if only to find her and kill the client. And if I run upon any more members of that fucking club, I’ll kill them too.
“Benny!” Thorne called, and after a moment one of the dwarves wandered through the door.
“Sir?”
“Send a runner to Arliss. Tell him we have Lazarus.”
The dwarf disappeared.
“Lovely stable you have out there, Thorne,” Christian muttered. “I thought I’d seen every fucked-up thing the Creche had to offer, but you—”
“Why be dramatic?” Thorne asked. “I’m a businessman, no different from any other. I judge no man, merely offer wares that people want to buy. Grotesquerie raises value.”
“I hope it’s me who ends you.”
“Unlikely.” Thorne looked up at the witch. “Arliss will bring drugs, but even bound, I don’t trust this one not to make a fuss. Put him out, will you?”
He turned back to Christian.
“Well, Lazarus, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you. I don’t expect we’ll meet again.”
Christian tried to answer him but could not,