The Cogsmith's Daughter (Desertera #1)(8)
“Priming appointments?” Aya asked. “What are those?”
Dellwyn sighed. “Let’s begin with where we store the mop.”
*
As Aya and Dellwyn walked between the propeller blades, Aya placed her hand on the one to her left, pinching it in her fist. Nothing in the main room of the Rudder had changed in the last ten years—other than Madam Huxley’s face, which now held a few extra wrinkles. A man stood on the other side of the tall desk, waving his hands in the air, his voice threatening to reach a dangerous level. “Are you protesting the word of an earl? The Earl of Cornsworth has been married for twenty years, and I know for a fact that he is a regular client of yours!”
Madam Huxley held up her hands. “I’m sorry, Lord Bernstein, but we simply cannot provide our services to married people. You know the law—adulterers, both the offending spouses, or in this case, the offending spouse and the unmarried concubine—shall be executed without mercy. Surely you don’t think that I, a respected businesswoman, would so blatantly defy the law. We only serve the unmarried.”
Dellywn laughed. Madam Huxley and Lord Bernstein’s heads snapped around. Dellwyn bit her lip to contain a smile and scurried off to her room. Aya, on the other hand, stayed put. They all knew the routine, and with Dellwyn scampering off, Aya would have the honor of being the bearer of good news.
“Aya.” Madam Huxley smiled, her voice rising to a high, feminine lilt. “Could you please escort Lord Bernstein out the back exit? Door M. I would hate for his reputation to be threatened if someone saw him leaving from the propellers.”
Aya nodded and looped her arm through the nobleman’s. He huffed but allowed himself to be pulled away. When they were out of earshot of the common room, Aya stopped.
“I apologize for your alarm, Lord Bernstein.” Aya gestured to a door on their left marked with a letter M. “I am sure Kalinda will do everything in her power to ensure that you are well compensated for your emotional distress.”
Lord Bernstein raised his eyebrows, staring down at Aya as if she had just proclaimed it was raining. “Won’t Madam Huxley be angered to learn I am being served?”
“Oh, you don’t understand.” Aya spoke softly and quickly, attempting to soothe Lord Bernstein and relieve herself of his company. “Madam Huxley was simply acting. You see, we cannot allow the royal guard to catch wind of our operations here. If King Archon knew, every employee in this establishment, along with every person who has signed the guest book, would be executed—you included. I assume you signed in at the desk?”
“Yes.” Lord Bernstein arched an eyebrow. “The Madam insisted on it.”
Aya smiled. “Good. Then we are happy to serve you in exchange for your discretion.”
Lord Bernstein shifted his eyes from door to door. Aya couldn’t tell whether he was upset that he had been duped into leaving evidence of his transgressions or relieved that he would be served after all. She stepped in front of him and opened the door to Room M, motioning for him to enter. He paused then walked past Aya without another glance in her direction.
“Have a lovely evening,” Aya crooned, shutting the door with a loud thwap. She heard Kalinda let out a giggle, and she hoped the nobleman had jumped at the noise.
Aya continued down the hallway to her own room, Room V. There were twenty-six rooms in all, one for each letter of the alphabet. They were assigned to the employees by seniority and clientele with the longest-lasting and most-requested person in Room A. Currently, Room A was held by Alisa, who had been in Room G when Aya came to the Rudder, and Room B was held by Augustus, the only man working in the establishment. Dellwyn had worked her way up to Room E, and she intended to be in Room C by the end of the year.
Despite being “fully operational” for five years, Aya still worked in Room V, but she didn’t mind. This meant that she spent most of her evening alone, and when she did receive a client, he didn’t take up too much of her time. Of course, from time to time, she received the random merchant who delighted in bedding the dead cogsmith’s daughter as some sort of cosmic payback for her father being more successful than him. She even received the occasional woman. While these visits were less invasive, she didn’t particularly care for them. Much like poor Lord Derringher, she simply didn’t know what to do with her hands.
Before Aya even seated herself on her bed, a loud knock issued from her door. She quickly threw her cloak onto the chair in the corner and patted down her curls. Two more knocks came from the door, their strength causing the brass hinges to vibrate against the iron frame.
“Come in,” Aya called, trying to keep her voice low and smooth, despite the nerves creeping up in her chest from the rush and the noise.
The door flung open to reveal a large, muscular man with black soot caking his bearded face and hands. He wore a loose-fitting white shirt, also stained with soot, and plain black trousers, straining against his already-present excitement. A blacksmith, no doubt. They were always dirty from the fire.
Aya smiled demurely and moved to close the door. As she reached his side, the blacksmith extended his arm and grabbed her by her corset laces. “Where do you think you’re goin’?”
Aya took a deep breath, allowing her hand to slide up the man’s arm and caress his shoulder, her fingers kneading into the tight muscle to relax him. He shook his shoulder, sending her hand flopping uselessly to her side.