Wicked Gentlemen Read Free Page B

from Roffcale's corpse. Harper stared at the body in shock. I turned away, preferring the blinding lime light to the gutted remains that lay in the shadows.
     
    Chapter Three
    Red Me
     
    After discovering a handsome young man with his bowels cut out and his genitals sliced like sandwich meat, I had no desire to remain in the Inquisition House. I closed my eyes and waited while Harper reported the murder and checked the visitor ledger for entries. No one unusual had come to see Roffcale before Harper and me. Far down the hall, I heard Harper's muted exchange with an acolyte. I only caught the last few words: "Well, he didn't do it to himself, damn it. Someone had to have gone in to see him."
    The smell of Roffcale's mutilated body drifted over me. The fecal reek of spilled intestines and the sharp odor of blood churned under a cloud of rose perfume. Nausea bubbled up through my stomach as acolytes carried buckets of Roffcale's remains past me. Acolytes wrapped larger sections of his body in cloths and carried them out like newborn infants.
    "Captain." I caught Harper as he strode back toward the cell. "There doesn't seem to be much sense in my remaining to talk to Mr. Roffcale at this point."
    "No." Captain Harper scowled. "Let's get out of here, before you start to blister."
    "That would be good."
    I followed Captain Harper through the halls and back out into the night.
    "Come on." He beckoned me down the street. "I owe you a drink after all of this."
    The idea of gin appealed to me. I certainly wasn't going to turn in for a night's sleep with the memory of Roffcale's corpse so fresh in my mind. I followed Captain Harper.
    He led the way through the narrow streets and cut across alleys, moving more like a cutpurse than a captain of the Inquisition. I followed him, pleased that we were sinking into an environment that suited me.
    The roads were muddy and piled with trash. Puddles of filthy water pooled over the walkways and mixed with the heavy smell of horse shit that permeated the streets. None of the buildings were well-marked. Harper turned to a squat heap of soot-stained bricks and disappeared down a flight of steps. As I descended after him, I noticed a faded painting on the right wall of the stairs. It looked like the head of a growling mastiff. The door at the bottom of the stairs was painted with the same dog. A circle of flames wreathed its neck like a collar.
    I followed Captain Harper into the heavy scent of cigar smoke, spilled beer, and sweat. Inside, the breath and bodies of the men packed into the rooms filled the air with hot animal odors. Warm condensation dampened the walls. The rumble of voices rose and dropped through a constant murmur. The men's faces were thick and awkward, like the dried remains of mudslides. They hardly glanced up when Captain Harper came in. I only received one fat splatter of spit hacked at my feet. Captain Harper chose a table in the back.
    We sat drinking in silence for some time. The easy collapse into an alcoholic haze made relations between Captain Harper and me simple. It became a matter of proximity. We were there together, but we were not there for each other. We were there for the drinks. It was the same with every other man in the cramped bar. In a way, it was deeply pleasant to share the sense that in this place no one wanted your concern or tactful conversation. It was a lazy community of mutual disinterest and alcohol.
    Captain Harper drained a pint of red ale and immediately started on a second. He drooped forward slightly, leaning his forehead on one of his gloved hands while he studied the contents of his glass.
    "It would be easy to get out of a carriage if you had the key," he said.
    I didn't reply. I wasn't even sure he was talking to me.
    I gulped back a shot of blue gin and quickly poured myself another from the bottle.
    "If she unlocked the door on the far side, while Edward was locking the other, she could have slipped out before the driver pulled away."