Agent of the Dragon
Chapter 32

The city was as crowded as she’d remembered. Rhysa made her way through happily bawling crowds of hawking merchants. After the peace of the country, the noise of the marketplace was disorienting. Beneath the piercing calls of merchants was a wall of sound coming from the mass of shoppers. The press of bodies raised her pulse. Rhysa apologized to the man she bumped into when she stepped out of the way of a mother hauling her children behind her.

It had taken some finesse with scheduling to get here without Sterling at her side. She’d finally had to schedule an overlapping period of a couple of days, or he would have found someway to appear out of nowhere. Camyrn, of course, had been very amenable to an assignation. She’d nearly laughed when he’d given her the name of an inn that wouldn’t ask questions.

Across the market square, she could see the towering oval sign Camyrn had described. The painted sign depicted a statuesque woman in a green dress. Her dark hair was held down with a circlet of minor nobility, and her dress flared as she danced with obvious abandon. The amount of leg shown made the inn’s name, The Dancing Lady, particularly suggestive.

The common room of The Dancing Lady was dimly lit, making the transition from outside like walking into a cave. Rhysa stepped in, then to the side so she could let her eyes adjust without blocking the entrance. As her vision adjusted, she began to see the shape and contents of the room. The room was large with many tables and chairs in the middle of the room. Around the edges she saw tables set into alcoves with privacy curtains. A flash at the back of the room showed where the kitchen door was.

Unlike most inns, the check-in counter was near the front door rather than at the back near the kitchens. Camyrn had warned her about that. Once her eyes had adjusted sufficiently, she turned to see a man watching her. “Interesting place you have here. I’d like to rent a room for a couple of nights.”

“Certainly.” The man’s voice had the secretive matter-of-fact quality of someone who never sees anything. “A room is three Silvers a night. Meals are paid as you go and are 10 Bits each.”

Rhysa nodded and fished out six Silvers. “Here’s two nights.” She gave her name as Averie Therram.

The man handed her a key. “Your room is number seven.” He gestured to the stairs behind the check-in counter. She nodded her thanks and went up the stairs, reflexively noting which stairs made noise.

Her room was very average: single bed, large enough for two if they were close, a washstand with mirror, and a small wardrobe. A small window was barred on the outside. There was a chair resembling a stool with a back. The door was stout wood, and could be barred from the inside or locked from the outside.

Rhysa set her pack on the bed and immediately removed a folded dress, a skirt, and a blouse. She opened the wardrobe and took out hangers. She wanted her clothing to have time to unwrinkle as much as possible. She doubted she would remain in her clothing long once she’d met up with Camyrn, but she wanted to make sure she played the part correctly. Camyrn would be arriving mid-afternoon. That was still a few hours away.

She decided to leave the doors of the wardrobe open so air could circulate through her clothes. Then she decided she wasn’t going to stay in her room for the next few hours. Ostensibly she was here for a short, well-earned vacation. She might as well behave like it. She glanced in the mirror to make sure she looked appropriately radiant, then unbarred the door and went out.

Now that she’d secured a room, and no longer had to carry her travel pack, the crowds weren’t a problem. She began to enjoy the press of people, the accidental brushing of body against body, the oddly graceful dance of getting from one place to another.

While she browsed the various vendors and their wares, she pondered the plan she was putting into action. This was to be a cold-blooded seduction, and Rhysa wasn’t sure how to go about it. Up to now, her experience with physical intimacy was...regrettable. Even her short training with Venusia had been an exercise in frustration rather than pleasure, since Venusia had determined Rhysa needed to learn control rather than the various techniques of seduction. The only hope she had was something Venusia had said at the beginning of their training: “Seduction is in your blood, you’ll replace you don’t need anyone to teach you that.”

Great, thought Rhysa, something else I’ll have to rely on instinct for. Her nose twitched at a familiar scent coming from a table before an actual storefront. The table was laid out with samples of essential oils. She closed her eyes, and thought back to the many times she’d given Elise a massage after a rough day. She also thought about the scent Venusia used in her bedroom. Well. My instinct is telling me some of these will be useful.

She sorted through the various oils while the vendor yammered on about the various oils, their properties, and potential uses. She ignored him as she looked for the ones she was interested in. Clove. Ah, here it is. And here’s patchouli. I don’t see neroli.

She interrupted the vendor’s patter. “Do you have neroli?”

The vendor smiled at finally getting a reaction from her. Then his smile slid off when he realized he didn’t know the oil. “I’m not sure I know what that is. Where does it come from?”

“The pressed blossoms of the bitter orange tree.”

The vendor’s face lightened at once. “We have two oils from oranges.” He scanned the rows of oils and pulled out two vials. “The common oil is pressed from orange rinds.” He handed Rhysa one of the vials. She opened it and carefully sniffed the sweet, citrus smell of orange. “The other is pressed from orange blossoms, though I didn’t know there were bitter oranges.” He handed the second vial to Rhysa. She opened this one, and sniffed the slightly astringent smell of neroli.

“This is it.” She looked at the label. Orange Blossom Oil. How...practical. “I assume you carry the actual stock inside?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.” She handed the vials back to the vendor and entered the store. A young woman stood at the counter watching the passing crowds through the open door.

When Rhysa stepped inside, the woman smiled. “What can I do for you?”

Rhysa paused and mentally calculated what she would need. “I need a quarter ounce of patchouli, and an eighth ounce each of neroli and clove. Hmm. What do you have in the way of carrier oils here?”

The woman pulled out a couple of drawers as she answered. “Oh, the usuals. Sunflower, almond, olive, safflower.” She selected a small glass vial from one of the drawers, and two smaller vials from the other. “Let’s take care of these, first.” She set the three vials on the counter and replaced the drawers. Then she took the vials and went to open a cupboard. Rhysa saw several large glass jars of oils.

The woman began filling the vials. Olive oil tended to be slipperier than the others, but had its own scent that would clash with the essential oils she planned to put in it. She didn’t know much about sunflower or safflower oils. It would have to be almond. She cast back in her memory to the first time she’d given Elise a massage. It had been a refined type of almond oil called almande.

“Do you have almande oil?”

The woman turned and looked at Rhysa speculatively. “We don’t get many requests for something that refined. Most people who know of it, much less afford it, shop elsewhere in the city.” Rhysa met the woman’s regard with an expression of hopeful curiosity. The woman sighed. “My husband and I keep a small amount for our own uses. I could sell you some of that, but it alone would be more than double the cost of the essential oils you’re buying.”

“How much would you be willing to sell?”

The woman chewed her lip for a while before answering. “I can sell you eight ounces.” The offer was hesitant.

Rhysa laughed. “Don’t deprive yourself. I was only going to ask for five.” She thought for a moment. “I’d better also get another five of regular almond oil. Dry skin will soak up five ounces of almande oil too fast to provide a good massage.”

The woman nodded her agreement. “We usually saturate the skin with regular almond before using the almande. Doing it that way will greatly extend how far even a single dollop of almande oil will go.”

Rhysa nodded. “That’s my hope, though I don’t think I’ll go so far as to saturate the skin. I want the skin to soak up at least some of the essential oil so the scent will last longer.”

The woman shrugged and proceeded to add up the costs. The final total made Rhysa blink, but it was within her new salary as Assistant Castellan. She paid, and the woman went to siphon off five ounces of almande oil. While she waited, Rhysa looked out the door and watched the crowds. She would have to be an active participant in this, she couldn’t just lie there. She hoped she wouldn’t have to repeat this too many times.

The woman returned with a glass bottle containing a liquid slightly lighter than the color of honey. The woman carefully wrapped all four glass containers into a single bundle. Rhysa was just about to leave with her package when something occurred to her. She felt at her, much thinner, belt pouch then turned around. “I’ll also need a mixing bowl.”

“Of course. Ceramic?”

Rhysa gave the woman a mock shocked look. “Who would dare put almande oil in a metal bowl?”

The woman laughed and disappeared under the counter for a couple of seconds. Rhysa heard the chink of ceramic on ceramic, and the woman reappeared. “Here you go. I wanted to be sure you had one where the glaze hadn’t cracked.”

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