I waved down a coach at the edge of Dockside, thinking about the murdered Jim Hanks, and rode it the rest of the way to Northgate, where I handed over some of the marks jingling in my coat pocket and descended in front of the Gilded Lily in style.
The club’s spotless façade was illuminated by gas lamps and rose four stories in a confectioner’s array of small balconies, slender columns, and narrow arched windows. Private carriages were parked behind the building, next to a small enclosure where coachmen and grooms sat warming their feet by the fire. I made a note to talk to them later.
According to the blueprints Elliot had pulled for me, the club’s bottom floor consisted of small rooms for conversation and quiet drinking. The second floor was for gambling, the third floor for liaisons, and the fourth floor housed Lily’s girls. The basement held the booze cellar and a simple kitchen.
I stood at the edge of the walkway, lighting a cigar. Another carriage pulled up, disgorging two sparkling wenches and a flashy cull. They brushed past me, laughing, and passed through Lily’s door without a giving second glance to the bulky doorman holding it open for them.
I trailed a few feet behind them.
The doorman’s eyes raked me over, gauging my worth to the halfpence. He didn’t look impressed, but Lt. Medley’s clothes and Elliot’s haircut must have passed muster, because he didn’t raise a fuss when I walked past him. Then again, he didn’t hold the door open for me, either.
The Gilded Lily was warm and welcoming, filled with dark wood, thick rugs, and well-heeled guests. I circled the edges of the crowd like a whip-shy cur, holding my cigar in one hand and a glass of ridiculously expensive scotch in the other.
So, this was the Cislunar’s respectable middle class. They looked pretty much like the canting crew I’d hung with as a punk. Their clothes were cut from fancier cloth, but they were just as designed to impress and intimidate. Their faces were cleaner, but they wore the same insincere smiles. Their nails were manicured, but they shook each other’s hands with the same quiet tests of strength.
I wandered from room to room, hunting for Lily and listening for any interesting information that someone might let drop in a clipped, mercantile drawl. A chamber trio played in one room; a crew of drunken loudmouths argued in another; a pair of old women played a chess game in a third. Folks were snuggling in the fourth, holding a debate in the fifth, and singing off-color stage tunes in the sixth.
I didn’t see any sign of Droit down among the hoi polloi, so I climbed the winding staircase to the second floor, where I was met by a closed door and a flat stare.
“Private party, sen,” said the hardcase standing guard.
“I have an invitation.” I held out the Watch bank’s bill of credit, wrapped around some marks. More than I liked to spend on a bribe, but it wouldn’t do to look cheap. The hardcase flicked open my bill of credit, read it, and handed it back. The marks were gone. I was impressed. With fingers like that, the guy could have made a fine living as a pickpocket.
“Welcome, sen.” He opened the door. I stepped through.
The door opened into one huge, glittering room filled with the rattle of dice, rustle of cards, and tinkling of a roulette wheel. Cheers broke out at one table; groans at another. A pianist played in one corner, and barely dressed hostesses moved through the crowd taking drink orders and removing empty glasses. A crystal chandelier broke the bright gaslight into a million pieces and scattered it around the room to gleam in lady’s jewels and men’s cravat pins.
Appropriately dazzled, I took refuge near a roulette table and pretended to watch the game while I got my bearings.
I recognized chamberlains and ministers, a handful of ambassadors, some priests, some judges, and a whole lot of men and women whose faces meant nothing to me. I recognized a man the Ministry of Justice suspected of being an arms smuggler, a well-known opera singer, and a day commander in the Parkside watch. Sentinel Hargraves was chatting up a pretty girl in the corner — dammit, didn’t Carel trust me? — and, to my surprise, pale little Axton the gutslinger was sitting at a poker table with a handful of well-dressed strangers. He still looked like a baby undertaker, but the pile of chips in front of the small man suggested that he hadn’t wasted his years in Hellsgate Prison.
He glanced up and our eyes met. Nothing. He looked back down at his hand and coolly placed another bet. I turned my back on him and spotted Lily Liselle.
She was talking to a grey-haired, cane-wielding old toff whose soft voice and gentle manners hid the fact that he’d once been the city’s premiere cat burglar — Stephen Heath. His presence meant that his rougher but equally aged partner, Jimmy the Ascot, must be nearby. Yes, there he was; I spotted the old rogue at a dice table, chuckling as he blew on the ivories.
Lily’s hand was on Stephen’s arm, and their heads were close. Then the old burglar patted her hand, smiling like a kindly uncle. I tried him on as the nix dealer, but it didn’t fit. Stephen had prided himself on never drawing blood during his capers. He wasn’t the kind to get mixed up in something as nasty as nix. Even his pal Jimmy, who had fewer scruples, wasn’t likely to get involved in something like that.
Still, I would have liked to have known what Lily and Stephen were saying to each other.
They air-kissed and Lily walked away, mingling with her guests, patting arms and offering her cheek, bantering and complimenting. I got so involved watching her that I didn’t realize she was headed my way until her hand was on my arm, her smile as bright as a constable’s bullseye.
“Why, hello. It’s always a pleasure to see a new face in here,” she said, sliding an arm into mine and pulling me along in her wake. She smelled good and looked even better, all curves and grace … the kind of woman I’d never been and was never going to be. Her records said she was in her late fifties, but I wouldn’t have guessed it without looking closely.
“You must be Miss Liselle,” I said disingenuously. “I wasn’t expecting to meet you in person tonight.”
“I make a point of meeting all the strangers who come to my club,” she said, smiling at me even though others greeted her as we passed. “Especially the tall, dashing ones.”
“Well, tall, maybe,” I said. Much to my chagrin, I could feel my face grow warm. She gave a deep, husky laugh.
“Don’t fish for compliments; that’s my job,” she chided as she opened a door and let me into her office. She let the door swing shut behind her. “So, what brings the infamous Captain Lorencz to my club?”
“Shit.” I felt deflated. “It’s the hair, isn’t it? I shoulda bleached it, after all.”
She laughed, sitting down.
“That, and you look as uncomfortable in that suit as a snowman on a summer day. Did you borrow it or rent it?”
“Maybe I’m just interested in playing some cards.”
“You’re interested in someone in my club. I want to know who, and why, or I’ll have my boys throw you off the balcony.”
“A member of the Watch?”
“The Dockside Watch,” she said, dismissively. “I pay the Northgate Watch enough that they’ll clean your broken body off my walkway without a fuss, if they need to. And don’t try dropping fire here, whistleup; I’ve got my own sentinel on the payroll.”
I grinned, liking her just as much as I thought I would.
“Well, I wasn’t expecting to talk to you, but sure, I can tell you why I’m here.” I polished off my scotch and set the glass on the sideboard. The crystal decanters lined up there sparkled like the diamonds on those sheep outside the door.
“I’m looking for a lead on a batch of nix that might have been bought here, or around here,” I said, pouring myself a fresh glass. I glanced at her. She nodded. I bought her a drink, too, and carried them both back. “Guy who had it was a coachman who might have brought some of your guests here. I don’t expect you to know his name; I just want to know if you’ve heard anything about a guest using or selling nix.”
“I don’t deal in drugs.” She sipped her drink. “I have enough to do just to keep this place running. Why would I take a chance on something that could get me arrested?”
“I didn’t figure you would have.” I looked around the comfortably appointed office. “But maybe you’ve got a partner who isn’t as honest.”
Her gaze narrowed.
“You’ve been poking your nose into my finances.”
“Watch privilege. Gotta say, I was surprised. You don’t seem like the Butcher’s type.”
She waved a hand in dismissal.
“It’s a mutually convenient arrangement, that’s all. Tegeus is out there tonight, if you’re brave enough to talk to him. But I’ll tell you right now, he wouldn’t bother with drugs. Even something like nix … it’s too banal for Yzyrche’s Hound.”
“Yeah, maybe. Anyone else come to mind who might fit the crime a little better? I’m open to suggestions.”
“I’ll think about it.” She gave me a cool look. “In the meantime, I’ll let you stay long enough to lose some money. You can bother Droit, if you want, but don’t annoy any of my other guests or you’ll be getting a flying lesson.”
I saluted her with my glass and scrammed. Fair enough; I wasn’t here to brace anyone, anyway. Just wanted to get a feel for the place, see if I noticed anything hinky. I figured I’d get the most useful information from the coachmen outside, anyway.