The Fifth Star - Chapter 3 (1/3) - Secrets Exposed

Sparrow released a sigh as she pulled off the filthy cleaning apron she'd worn all afternoon and hung it on the back of her chamber door. The wooden bucket she'd lugged up the stairs with her steamed invitingly by the floor length mirror where she'd left it, the hot water calling to her for her evening wash. She would be more than happy to oblige; the day's grime and sweat clung to her skin and she wouldn't feel proper until she was as clean as the floors of the brothel she'd scrubbed for hours. Every woman who worked the nights at the brothel was expected to complete daily chores for their upkeep. It kept Mistress Raven from having to pay for housekeeping, but at least in return they kept a greater share of their fees when they took a private client than they would at other brothels. Sparrow hated floor duties, but this time none of the other girls had been willing to trade off with her. Her muscles were cramped and screamed at her that they wanted rest, but her waking hours were far from over.

A washcloth and drying sheet likewise awaited her attention, folded and resting on the foot of her bed. Sparrow began peeling off her old, stained dress that was only suitable for wearing during the aforementioned chores, letting it fall to the floor in a puddle of fabric about her ankles. She kicked it away with a small sneer of disgust, along with her undergarments. She crossed her modestly sized chambers to her dresser, where atop it waited a bottle of rose scented oil. A few drops added to the bucket filled the room quickly with the pleasant aroma. The washcloth followed suit into the bucket and Sparrow wrung it out with a groan of pleasure at the heat on her sore hands.

Beginning with her face, Sparrow ran the soothing fabric over every inch of her body. It simply would not do to be anything but impeccably clean, especially considering the generous coin spent on a night with one of Raven's well-reputed “flock”, as they were called. Their names were given to them when they began taking clients at the Raven's Nest, and they were all called by the name of a type of bird. It went with the establishment's name, as well as protected their real identities to any they did not wish privy to the same. Sparrow's name was a peculiar coincidence however; she'd long ago lost her given name, if she ever had one to begin with, and had gone by the name of Sparrow long before she'd ever stumbled across the Raven's Nest. She always assumed that it was part of the reason the Mistress had brought her into the Nest back then, and taken her under her wing as it were.

The cloth ran over the ridged scar tissue that dominated her back however, and she had to remind herself that as much as she despised the work she did, she was lucky to still have a place among the women who had helped to raise her and kept her from living on the streets again, as she had before she came here. Raven could easily have tossed her back out there to fend for herself – in fact it would have made far more sense for her to do so, purely from a business standpoint – but instead she'd kept her here in safety to continue plying her trade, albeit with some conditions. No client she took was permitted to look upon the ruin the Empire had made of her flesh years before; even once they were alone in the coupling rooms she was not allowed to remove the custom-made and exceedingly expensive corsets she wore that covered the scars, no matter how terribly they begged and pleaded.

When she was finished and dried off as well as powdered and perfumed, she went to her closet and sought out the dress she decided she would wear for the evening. It took a bit of searching, as much of her income she spent on clothing that filled the space with a broad scope of colours, but when she did find what she was looking for she could not help the smile that came to her lips while she separated it from the rest. The bright emerald green dress was her favourite, and she hardly ever wore it to keep its condition immaculate. The shade of green matched her eyes exactly, and the golden accent that accompanied it was a wide band, used for tying about the waist. It was cut with embroidery-like patterns which allowed the lovely shade to be seen through the silk. She laid the garment gently over the bed while she worked on donning a black corset. Well used to performing the task, her practiced hands cinched the corset tightly around her form and tied it without any others' assistance.

Once the dress was on, she smoothed it over her body and stepped in front of the mirror. The corset and dress gave her body a curvier appearance than she naturally possessed; she envied some of the other girls their hourglass shapes, for the gods had seen fit to provide her a frame she found plain, though she still attracted attention, so she supposed it was not so bad as she imagined. It wasn't that she had no shape at all, no – but her hips were slender rather than broad, her waist tapered in only slightly, not so pronounced as the others', and her bust was smaller than she would have liked. Sparrow tugged on the strip of ribbon that bound her hair, freeing it from the tight bun it had been contained in whilst she'd cleaned. The mass of auburn strands fell well past her shoulders to her midback, its comforting waves tickling her freshly scrubbed skin as she shook it out of its bundled shape. The wide scoop neck of the dress would look best with her hair down as it was, she decided, and she spent many minutes brushing it until it shone brilliantly. During her time of homelessness, she'd despised having long hair and saw it as nothing but a nuisance that constantly managed to get in your eyes and mouth, and as a result had always kept it cropped as closely as a boy's; but since she'd been privy to a life of relative privilege she loved it, loved the weight of it on her scalp. Now she only cut it when absolutely necessary, when the ends had all split and broken and demanded the task be done.

When she was finished and felt herself once more, Sparrow exited her chamber on the second floor of the brothel and took the staircase down to the main area, bypassing the lounge and bar and heading straight for the kitchen. Behind the kitchen was a back room that only possessed one long table and enough chairs for the girls who worked here and their supporting staff. The chef, Mags, would eat after, but the guard they employed as well as the night's serving girl would dine with the others, for a total of eleven seats. Some of the girls had already arrived for the meal; Wren and Canary sat chatting quietly to one another, and Finch sat opposite, greeting Sparrow with a broad smile as she entered the room.

Sparrow quickly seated herself by Finch; of all the girls here, she got along the best with the dark-skinned woman from across the sea. She was the only one who truly said exactly what was on her mind, who didn't operate on the same etiquette and decorum as the others. She could put on a good show of it, sure, just as Sparrow could – but behind closed doors she was boisterous and had a rebellious streak in her, quite the opposite of what their nightly performances would make it seem. She was also the one who had accompanied her on that dreadful Homecoming day, and the only one who truly sympathised with her pain from such, the recurring nightmares and the thirteen long scars that seemed to define her.

“Oh, Sparrow!” Finch exclaimed, “That dress looks ever so lovely on you.”

She smiled most generously, knowing from her the compliment would be nothing if not sincere. “Thank you!” she beamed back, just as Swan entered the dining room, “And you look as exotic as always.” She did, the gold-coloured dress she wore only making her skin look richer, like smooth chocolate, and shining gold loops dangled from the piercings in her earlobes.

They chatted idly while they waited for the rest of the group to arrive and the meal to be served, lamenting their sore muscles borne of the day's work. As people joined, the conversation grew and soon they were all exchanging stories from the night before and sharing which customers they hoped to see tonight. By the time Mags and the server Lydia entered with the first course of the meal, they were all starving, but they waited patiently for the three courses to be served all at once before they dug in. The guard entered just then, always last, presumably so he did not have to partake in their discussions about their line of work. Sparrow and Finch started with gusto, the impeccably spiced roast in particular lasting not near long enough, while some others persisted in maintaining the appearance of propriety and picked delicately at their meals though they were certainly as hungry as the rest.

When the last of them had finished, they all stood as one, picking up their dishes and carrying them to the kitchen so Mags did not have to. Their evening would start soon, so they never had time to help wash – not that they'd necessarily want to, and risk ruining their immaculate nails – before the doors would open and the first customers of the evening would arrive. They had just enough time to finish their preening and place themselves in appealing fashion around the room, inviting people in as the Nest opened for business.

**********

The evening rush of customers was not going as well as Sparrow would have liked. She sat perched lightly on the arm of one of the many couches scattered about the lounge area, giving her attention to the man she sat with, burly old Corath, whose patronage she hoped to earn this night. Though he was nothing fantastic to look upon, the well-to-do merchant often paid for private time with her in which he did little and spoke much – bemoaning his stressful business and his uninterested wife, quiet talking which rarely turned to sex in her experience. It was easy money, and she typically looked forward to his visits, but this night he did not seem interested and their conversation was too often interspersed with long periods of uncomfortable silence. She was momentarily distracted further as two men entered the brothel that Sparrow did not recognize. Much of their prestige was due to the word of mouth of repeat customers, so newcomers always merited note. One was tall and lithe with straight dark hair to his chin, while the other was half a head shorter, his own locks blonde and cropped short. Their eyes scanned the room, but she paid them little mind as they conferred in whispers, likely deciding where to seat themselves.

Corath finished telling a story she hadn't been giving her full attention to, but she giggled prettily, not missing the cue. But it was not enough to win him over from the strange mood that seemed to have befallen him, and after a time she excused herself as politely as she was able and moved on, surveying the room for men still in need of entertainment. The other girls had been doing brisk business while she'd been occupied with a dead end, and there were few options left to her at the moment until the late-night crowd would appear in a few hours. Right now the bar area was far fuller, where those who were disinterested in private time but enjoyed the atmosphere of the Nest for a drink more than the alehouses around the city tended to sit. She thought of how much further ahead in commissions the other girls would already be than her and grimaced slightly.

Among the men who had not yet been seen to were the pair she'd noted entering earlier. She walked over to where they were seated, the blonde relaxed with one leg slung over the arm of the couch he dominated, the dark one stiff and out of place in the high-backed chair they'd dragged over beside it. Sparrow put a little extra sway in her hips as she closed the distance, and she saw the both of them perk up visibly at her approach, greeting her with two pleasant smiles. Well, one pleasant smile from the blonde, and one moderate attempt at one from the other.

Sparrow spoke first. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she started, taking note of the tankard of ale in front of each of them. At least they'd been seen to, if not able to procure a private session thus far. “Is everything this evening to your satisfaction?”

“Now that you've arrived, much more so,” the blonde answered, retracting his leg and sitting straighter to make room for her on the couch. He patted the spot he'd vacated with an open palm in clear invitation. His companion only stared at her, and said not a word as she placed herself in the proferred seat. “How about a drink for yourself, my lady?” he offered, waving over the night's server before Sparrow could make a reply.

“A drink for the green-eyed beauty here, if you would be so kind. Whatever it is she would like.”

Lydia nodded and turned to Sparrow, who ordered her default, a red wine from the Empire's capitol, Valterik – a drink of middling price. She left and returned but a minute later with it, setting the goblet down in front of her and checking on the ales of both the men before she went on her way.

“So, how long have you been working here?” the shorter man asked, and it did not seem like he asked merely to be polite but that he was genuinely interested in her reply.

“Oh, a few years,” she answered with a noncommittal wave of her hand, “the Mistress is very good to us here.”

“I'm pleased to hear it. So often is not the case.”

“So they say,” she confirmed, “I consider myself lucky at least in that regard.” Sparrow took a drink of the wine, savoured its sweetness on her tongue for a moment before swallowing. “And what is it you two do, if you don't mind my asking?”

“We both work in the castle,” he replied, “My name is Dorivan, and my partner here-”

“Vynn,” the dark-haired one spoke for the first time, his voice deep and imposing as he reached across the small gap between them. She took note of the black leather gloves which fit snugly over his long fingers. They must have been custom-made.

Sparrow took his hand and shook it gently with a smile; though the gesture was out of place here, she tried not to make that apparent. “Pleased to meet you both. My name is Sparrow.”

Introductions out of the way, she conversed with the two for a time as she hoped for one of them to request her time alone in the coupling rooms. The time passed quickly, and she found Dorivan was a fascinating conversationalist, so she did not even feel the usual pressure to get him alone. When the invite came however, it surprised even her.

“May I assume you are accustomed to… atypical requests?” Dorivan eventually broached, and Sparrow jumped on it.

“Of course. I can't guarantee I can accommodate, but the Raven's Nest will do its best to fulfill your needs,” she assured him.

“Then I shall speak plainly. My friend here… he's more of a watcher than a participant,” he explained, leaning in close to apparently save his partner the embarrassment of the conversation. “If we were to go somewhere private, could he accompany? I assure you, you will be well-compensated for his presence.”

It was indeed an unusual request, though not entirely unheard of. Sparrow took a sip of her wine, nearly empty now, to cover her face while she thought on it. Raven made no fuss if one of her girls didn't want a particular job, and while two men at once was not something she typically consented to… she supposed if the silent man only wished to watch, it would make up for the slow night she'd been having, with no more work involved than she would expend for only one.

“Regular rate for you both,” she conceded, “and I would be most pleased to be of assistance.”

Dorivan smiled broadly then. “I would offer no less. So, shall you lead the way?”

Sparrow took a hold of Dorivan's hand as she stood, pulling him up with her, and Vynn followed suit, brushing himself off self-consciously as a few nosey pairs of eyes looked on. She led the way to the curtained alcove where Raven sat upon a stool, watching over the room. Gesturing for Dorivan to enter, she drew the curtain closed behind him for a semblance of privacy so he could make arrangements for her time and pay the fees up front. Vynn stood close to her as they waited, and it seemed almost protective the way he watched about them for trouble. She wondered if it was a habit so ingrained he didn't even realize he did so, or a measured action done in full consciousness.

Dorivan emerged a short time later, and Raven met Sparrow's eyes with a silent nod – he had paid in full, and now it was up to her. Coyly she smiled at Dorivan and turned away from him, leading the pair towards a private room, one unoccupied as told by the door being ever so slightly ajar. She pushed it open and entered the lush chamber, seating herself on the foot of the enormous silk-covered bed as she awaited their pleasure. She would let this Dorivan character set the pace of the evening, as it seemed to her that he was one who liked to be in control.