New Amsterdam #03 - The White City by Elizabeth Bear

Author:Elizabeth Bear [Bear, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Fiction, General, Historical
ISBN: 9781596063235
Publisher: Subterranean
Published: 2010-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

Moscow

Bely Gorod

January 1897

—Tell me everything you know about Starkad,— Sebastien said, taking Irina’s hand. She flinched from the chill, but only with discomfort, not the startled horror of one who had never experienced it before. In short, she showed every sign of being—as she presented herself—an experienced courtesan.

Jack settled back in the chair opposite the divan upon which wampyr and girl coexisted, pretending he felt no trace of jealousy. That skill too, was a mark of the experienced courtesan, and one he had a certain amount of practice in. Not that he ever bothered to lie to Sebastien about his jealousy—it would be pointless dissembling, when Sebastien could smell it on him. But he had too much pride to allow his emotions to humiliate him.

Before strangers, anyway.

Irina seemed to be having a hard time formulating her thoughts, or maybe she was still struggling with the shock of Sergei’s death. In any case, it was almost half a minute before she withdrew her hand from Sebastien’s meant-to-be-comforting grasp and raised her eyes from the floor.

She said, —He’s tall. Not like you. Very tall, broad shoulders, white hair and a red beard like a Finn. An accent I never could identify. He dresses like a laborer sometimes. Sometimes in good clothes, but carelessly. He does not play favorites among his courtesans. We do not live with him. He provides for us all the same. Not like you and Jack.

—Jack is not my courtesan,— Sebastien said. —He is my…friend.

Bastard, Jack thought through a pinned-on smile. When Irina gave him a questioning glance, he only forced it wider.

—The blood do not have friends.

Sebastien shrugged. —When you are as old as I am, you have whatever you want. Forgive me if I speak plainly.

Despite everything, the archness of his tone made Jack feel like applauding him. The irony wasn’t lost on Irina, either, by the look she gave him.

Sebastien, Jack had the experience to know, did not care to be manipulated. He sat back calmly and said, —I gather Starkad pretty much left you to your own devices.

—He took an interest in my art.

The way she said it, defensively, with the emphasis on the word my, told Jack something he should have noticed at the gallery. If Starkad took an interest in Irina’s art, it was not a special interest, no matter what she told herself. Of course a wampyr would find willing courtiers among a city’s artists—Bohemian, penniless, fond of provoking outrage. But it sounded like Starkad had a closer connection—as if he enjoyed the artists for their own sake.

—Did he frequent any of the underground clubs here in Moscow?

—Not that I know.

From Sebastien’s frown, it jibed with what he’d learned

from his own contacts there. Jack imagined he’d been hoping for more.

—Do you know any of his other names?

Irina shook her head. —You said Starkardr. That was more than I ever heard.

Sebastien inclined his head. —No one seems to have met him. One or two had heard the name.

Irina grimaced and fumbled in her pockets.

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