Maksym Pachesiuk
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Warlock's Last Exam - Chapter 8
🕑 Added 2025-01-10 16:06:13 +0000 UTC"Any preferences, sir?" the bruiser asked.
"Young and fresh," I replied. I had some experience in intimate matters, thanks to Betty McLal, though she quickly shifted her attention to John Kink.
"Give us a moment; the girl needs to get herself ready." The bruiser gestured toward a red velvet-upholstered chair. "Tea?"
"I won’t say no."
The man disappeared through a side door, leaving me with a brief window of solitude. I needed to use it wisely to analyze the situation. I’d managed to not only surprise my pursuers but also myself. How the hell did I end up here? And what am I supposed to do now?!
Sure, I knew what people usually did in places like this. Betty... well, she was back in Avoc and had nothing to do with this situation. God, what a mess I’ve gotten myself into!
The bruiser reappeared in the hall, announcing that the tea would be brought shortly, and lumbered up the stairs.
Right. First things first – calm down. Now, back to the task at hand. I needed to rent a room, deposit the money in a bank, and, above all, get rid of Fairburn’s thugs. I doubted they’d just give up and leave.
The shopfront windows on the first floor were sealed tight with decorative walls, for obvious reasons. A shame – I would’ve liked to peek behind the curtains. So, my options were to either stay put here… or sneak out through the back. Perhaps I could try the windows on the upper floors, or even the roof.
The side door opened again, and out came a plump woman carrying a tray. She had a shawl draped over her shoulders. On the tray was a steaming cup of aromatic tea, a small dish of cookies, a saucer with a few large sugar cubes, and a tiny decorative bottle of milk.
"Here you go, sir," she said warmly.
I stood to take the tray from her hands, but she waved me off.
"Oh, no, no! That’s my job," she insisted, setting the tray on a small table beside me. "Sugar?"
"No, thank you. Just milk," I replied, noticing the bottle. There was still space in the cup, and the milk practically spoke for itself.
As the woman poured the milk, I couldn’t help but notice the massive stones set into the gold rings on her fingers. Servants didn’t wear jewelry like that. Was she the manager, or perhaps the owner? I’d heard that former courtesans, those who "retired" and managed to save up some money, often opened their own establishments or inherited them from older proprietors. Abuse of contraceptive potions wasn’t exactly kind to their reproductive health, and few of them had children after a few years of diligent service.
"Here you are, sir," she said, handing me the cup on its saucer and gesturing toward the dish of cookies. "Please, help yourself."
"Thank you."
With women like her, one had to tread carefully. They’d seen a lot and knew how to turn a profit in any situation. For my purposes, though, a young prostitute would be a better choice.
"Forgive me, sir," the woman said suddenly, "but why now? It’s rare for anyone to visit a brothel in the morning."
"Why not? At least I’ll avoid the lines," I joked.
She laughed, a genuine sound, it seemed.
"Polite, with a sense of humor. Fine qualities!" she said with a smile. "I like you, young man, so I’ll give you a gift: an hour with a girl, on the house."
It took the girl longer than the promised minute to "freshen up." In the meantime, I finished my tea and gathered my thoughts. And it’s a good thing I finished the tea – otherwise, I might have choked when I saw the red-haired "beauty queen." The damn thugs from Fairburn’s crew looked more appealing.
No, it wasn’t as if the girl was poorly dressed. Her dress was presentable, her hair styled in neat curls, her eyebrows plucked, and her lips painted. But something about the whole picture just didn’t come together.
What can I say? I’m a country boy through and through. I prefer sturdy girls – not fat ones. This girl clearly wasn’t watching her weight, and her waist was maintained solely by the corset she wore. Pencil-thin, drawn-on eyebrows, lips painted into a bow shape, and thick eyeshadow made her look more like she was masking an illness than enhancing her beauty.
Nevertheless, I made a titanic effort and smiled.
"Miss," I said politely.
She blushed as red as a poppy. The brothel madam made some sort of gesture to her and disappeared, leaving the girl to take my hand and lead me upstairs in silence.
In a tiny bedroom, the first thing she did was unfasten her voluminous skirt and spread her legs wide, revealing herself through the open slit in her pantalettes. It was a silent demonstration of what she assumed I had come for.
Dear God, save me.
Despite my revulsion, I felt a stirring of desire. What the hell was this?
The girl, convinced she was being enticing, stepped forward and tried to take my bag off my shoulder.
"Hold on, hold on! Just a moment, miss!" I exclaimed, pulling away from her grasping hands.
"Don’t worry, sir, I can be gentle," she said with a laugh.
What the hell is going on?! I find her repulsive!
"The tea!" I suddenly realized. Bloody hell, and damn my carelessness. "What was in the tea?"
The girl’s expression shifted. She was clearly inexperienced, judging by how poorly she masked her reaction. They must train young ones like her on idiots like me in brothels like this.
"What are you talking about, sir?" she asked, feigning innocence.
"I see," I sighed. "Take a seat for a moment."
"But…"
"Sit!" I ordered, reaching into my satchel.
If the tea had been spiked with a stimulant, I needed the antidote – second formula. Thank God I hadn’t left it at home. Without looking, I pulled out a vial of cloudy liquid, uncorked it…
"Maybe you don’t need to?" the redhead squeaked, fear flashing in her eyes. "The tea had plenty!"
"It’s an antidote," I reassured her.
"But why?" she asked, confused. "It was just a regular aphrodisiac. So inexperienced clients wouldn’t feel awkward."
I nearly choked on the potion.
"I am not inexperienced!" I snapped, then immediately felt ridiculous. Who was I even trying to convince? And why?
Suppressing my indignation, I glanced around the room, estimating the size of the curtained window, and cautiously peeked out. The window overlooked the street – not ideal for an escape. Still, I didn’t see any of Fairburn’s men. Wait – there was one, standing and smoking. Well, smoke yourself to death, for all I care.
"Where do the back doors lead?" I asked, making the prostitute even more nervous.
"Are you planning to run?! Beatrice will bury me alive!"
"Want five pounds?" I offered, but she shook her head desperately.
"Ten? … Twenty? … You’ve got to be joking, miss!"
"I’d rather work it off!" she said firmly. "Even for a hundred. You’ll enjoy it, I promise."
"My dear, I hate to disappoint you, but I didn’t come here for pleasure. I came to lose a tail. Come here."
I gestured toward the window and pointed. "See that big guy with the cigarette? He’s waiting for me."
"Who are you?" the girl asked, suddenly alarmed. "The satchel… the potions…"
"I’m someone whose death on your doorstep would be very inconvenient," I replied, deciding fear might motivate her. "Though there’s always the question of who will end up killing whom first…"
"You should speak to Beatrice," the girl stammered.
"I don’t like her," I admitted. "Too cunning."
"I don’t make decisions," the redhead protested. "Beatrice bought me from my parents for three hundred pounds. Until I work it off, I’m her slave."
"I could buy your freedom," I offered.
"And then what?" she asked bitterly. "Will you take care of me? Provide me with a life? I don’t want to rot as a laundress like my mother, find some drunkard for a husband, give birth to his kids, and endure his beatings… This is better than that."
"That’s a shame," I replied, pulling another vial from my bag and a dagger from the inner pocket of my jacket. I held both in my right hand while my left grabbed her by the hair, turning her away from me. I pressed the blade to her throat.
"Quiet," I ordered. "I’m truly sorry that it’s come to this. I don’t intend to kill you, but the only way I can ensure your loyalty is like this."
I released her hair, shifted the vial to my left hand, and kept the dagger steady.
"Take this," I said, shoving the vial into her hand. "Drink it."
"V-Willie…"
"You won’t make it. Nobody screams with a slit throat."
"Beatrice won’t forgive you…"
"Don’t be an idiot. Drink!"
The prostitute cautiously removed the cork and poured the contents into her mouth, swallowing it in small sips as if afraid she’d cut herself by gulping too quickly.
"Good girl," I said, lowering the tension in my voice slightly. "Now, about what you just drank. It’s poison. If you want to live, you’ll do exactly as I say. I have the antidote with me. Feeling dizzy yet?"
"Y-yes," she stammered, her voice trembling.
"Perfect." I pulled the dagger away from her neck and slipped it back under my jacket.
"Don’t scream," I advised. "The poison works quickly, and there are plenty of vials in my bag. Some of them contain things far worse than what you just drank."
"I-I feel sick!" she cried, sinking to the floor.
"Close your eyes, lift your head, and open your mouth," I ordered. Once she complied, I dripped a few drops of the antidote into her mouth.
"This will buy us a little more time. You’ll get the rest later. Now, where do the back doors lead?"
"To the inner courtyard," she murmured weakly.
"Is there a way out from there?"
"Only through the other buildings," she admitted.
As I suspected, this block was tightly packed and closed off.
"Do you have an attic?"
"Yes… I feel awful… Really awful…"
"Then answer faster!" I snapped. "Is there roof access?"
"I don’t know," she groaned.
"Are there windows in the attic?"
"Yes… Give me the antidote… the poison…" she whimpered, her head lolling forward as she collapsed onto the floor.
"Relax," I said with a sigh. "It’s just a sleep potion."
I lifted her from the floor and laid her on the bed. After one last check for any sign of a tail outside, I quietly opened the bedroom door.
Two flights of stairs later, I found myself under a ceiling hatch with a pull-down ladder leading to the attic. The damn thing creaked like crazy. Apparently, the brothel workers on this floor were too exhausted to investigate the noise.
Contrary to my expectations, the attic was clean and tidy, with four triangular windows. Two of them faced the street, and the other two overlooked the inner courtyard. Unfortunately, the windows were tightly secured, with only small vents that could be opened.
I had to use the dagger again to break the frame, pull out the nails, and remove the panes. After a few minutes of effort, I climbed onto the red-tiled roof and took in my surroundings.
The inner courtyard below was quiet, with three chestnut trees growing in the center, a couple of flowerbeds, a few tables, and even a sandbox for children.
I couldn’t find any suitable way down. The drainpipes looked far too flimsy, but two houses on the opposite side of the block had balconies, and I decided to make my way toward them. The risk of slipping and tumbling off the tiles was high, and meeting the cobblestones below could be fatal. Even if I managed to activate stone skin in time, there’d still be the risk of internal injuries – and fractures. Especially fractures.
I kept my dagger out, using its tip to anchor myself and gain some traction on the hard, slick tiles. Fortunately, all the buildings in the block were built flush against each other and at the same height. After twenty tense minutes, I reached the house I needed and paused to assess my options.
I could drop down onto the balcony and exit through the door, but that might lead to an unpleasant encounter with the owner. Alternatively, I could climb down the balconies on the outside, but that would attract the attention of everyone on the street – and possibly the police. Then again, the owner might call the constables anyway. And if the owner was armed...
Fine. If the constables caught me, I’d tell them the truth – I escaped from a brothel.
Still, I decided not to push my luck too far. Once I reached the roof ridge, I stopped to look around. The streets below were free of police officers. Moving quickly would have been ideal, but I chose to act cautiously instead. Note to self: pack a rope next time.
I slowly worked my way to the edge of the roof and dropped down onto the first balcony. Amazingly, only a few passersby noticed me, and that was only when I climbed to a lower balcony. Despite the attention, I descended the rest of the way without incident. No one approached me, and the dagger in my hand likely discouraged any curiosity.
Once I reached the ground, I slipped the blade back into its sheath and tucked it inside my jacket. My hand was still gripping the hilt when my eyes caught sight of a passing cab, and a surge of anger flared through me.
"Wait a second!"
The woman sitting in the backseat was most definitely not Simon.
The cab turned a corner and disappeared from sight, and I let go of the dagger’s hilt, immediately sprinting after it like a hunting hound on a fresh trail.
I rounded the corner just in time to see two identical cabs turn in different directions.
Which one?
I reached for my dagger again, thinking quickly, but it was too late – the vehicles vanished from view.
"Bollocks!" I swore under my breath, only to notice a familiar face just three meters ahead.
It was Cap, the little street rat from yesterday. He stood frozen in place, clutching the same leather pouch in his hands. He was obviously on his way to deliver the loot to the pawnshop, following orders from his leader.
"You!" I pointed the dagger at him. "Don’t move!"
But the brat didn’t listen. He spun around and bolted.
"Stop!" I roared, chasing after him.
Never before had I encountered a child so fast. Despite all my physical training and the grueling drills my grandfather had put me through, I only caught up to him after three blocks. By then, Cap was screaming at the top of his lungs:
"Ellie!"
He darted behind the back of a petite girl carrying a basket, using her as a shield. I almost bowled her over in my pursuit.
"My apologies, miss, but I need that little thief!" I said, pointing my dagger at a terrified Cap.
"And what exactly do you plan to do with him?" the girl demanded, her tone sharp and unyielding. She showed no fear of the blade I had foolishly forgotten to conceal during the chase. Her firm voice snapped me out of my adrenaline-fueled haze.
I glanced at the dagger in my hand, realizing how threatening I must have looked, and laughed awkwardly.
"Forgive me, that was an accident." I slid the blade back into its sheath beneath my jacket. "Better now?"
"Nathan, give him back what you took!" the girl ordered sternly, her tone brooking no argument.
She was pretty—round cheeks, a small upturned nose, and a long black braid draped over her shoulder. Now that was the kind of lady I wouldn’t mind meeting at a brothel.
"I didn’t steal anything!" Cap squeaked, his voice indignant.
The girl shot him a fierce glare.
"Really!" he protested.
"Then why were you chasing him?" she asked, turning back to me.
"I had my reasons. Isn’t that right, Cap?" I said, staring at the boy.
Cap avoided my gaze, shrinking further behind the girl.
"Speak, or leave," she said, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.
"Young lady, my dear," I began, irritation seeping into my voice, "what exactly are you going to do? Call a constable? Your little thief here is carrying a pouch full of stolen valuables."
Nathan – or Cap – shrank under the girl’s stern gaze, awkwardly hiding the pouch behind his back.
"Why call a constable…" the girl said, her tone hardening. "I can handle this myself."
Her eyes flared orange, glowing with a predatory intensity. She shoved her basket into Cap’s arms, and in one swift motion, she ripped off her skirt.
Before my mind could wander to inappropriate comparisons with the brothel, I saw she was wearing sturdy gray trousers and laced-up hiking boots. Her legs – strong and shapely – momentarily distracted me. Was this still the tea talking, or was it just me?
I took two cautious steps back. A fight with a shifter wasn’t in my plans.
But the girl was young – at first glance, my age or perhaps younger. This was likely the first year of her merging with her spirit, the stage where they often lost themselves in their newfound power. Full mastery would take another five to ten years, but during this early phase, they often became drunk with confidence until someone put them in their place. My grandfather had used me more than once to teach shifters such lessons.
But back then, I had time to prepare – to study my opponent’s habits and anticipate their moves. Now I was walking blind into a confrontation.
Retreat wasn’t an option. Showing weakness would ruin the small authority I had over Cap, which was the only thing keeping him somewhat obedient.
I really hoped I wouldn’t get my ass handed to me.
First, I reached for the corundum in my stone skin ring, ready to activate its protection. Then, under the girl’s watchful gaze, I plunged my hand into my bag and pulled out a vial of potion.
She allowed me to uncork it with my teeth and pour the contents down my throat. Big mistake – she should have attacked immediately.
The battle elixir surged through my veins, sending a rush of energy and agitation through my body. My ears rang unpleasantly for a moment before my system adjusted.
"I suggest you stand down," I said, my voice roughened by the potion’s effects.
Only now did the girl realize she had waited too long to react. She launched her attack. In my defense, I’d never seen a move like it before. She leapt into the air, coiling herself like a spring, and then struck me with both feet square in the chest, her body snapping straight as if parallel to the ground.
The impact sent me flying backward, skidding three meters across the pavement.
Damn it – I’d spent the stone skin charge out of sheer reflex, but at least it softened the blow. Simon’s bullets had stung worse.
The girl didn’t land gracefully either – she fell flat on her backside and looked as stunned as I felt.
I was on my feet first and closed the distance instantly. She was still getting up when I kicked her in the solar plexus. My aim was slightly low, but it still sent her sprawling.
Thank God for cousin Sally, who had long ago beaten any stereotypes about female weakness out of my head. Otherwise, I might have been the one lying flat on the pavement.
The girl struggled to rise again, but I closed in and landed another blow to her solar plexus – the physical counterpart to the spiritual core. This time, my aim was dead on. She let out a grunt and collapsed into a fetal position.
And, of course, that’s when I heard the police whistles.
Two constables in tall helmets, truncheons in hand, were rushing toward me.
"Bollocks! Just perfect!" I muttered. Couldn’t they have shown up a minute earlier?
I glanced toward Cap and saw the little bastard spring away again, leaving the girl’s basket and skirt abandoned on the pavement.
"Stop!" I barked, taking a step to chase after him.
But… damn it, the constables…
"Catch the thief!" I shouted, pointing toward where Cap had fled, but the officers ignored me entirely.
"Face down on the ground, now!" one of the constables ordered, his bristling mustache making him look even more intimidating. He raised his truncheon threateningly.
"Be more polite, sir," I snapped back, my frustration and the battle potion’s lingering effects boiling over into misplaced irritation. "Or I’ll shove that baton down your throat to the handle! The lady shifter struck first – I’m the victim here. And on top of that, you just let a thief slip away! So, for the love of all that’s holy, mind your manners!"
The constables were taken aback by my sharp response, and the fact that I wasn’t trying to flee, threw them even more off balance. They exchanged uncertain glances, clearly unsure of how to proceed.
In truth, I had no intention of causing further trouble. Adding the police to my growing list of enemies was a terrible idea. Less than an hour from now, the effects of the potion would wear off, leaving me with a nasty backlash in the form of debilitating weakness. I needed to resolve this situation before that happened.
"The witnesses will scatter if you don’t act fast!" I reminded them.
The mustachioed constable, the one who had been threatening me with his baton, nodded to his younger colleague, signaling him to handle the crowd. Then he turned back to me.
"You’re the… ah, pardon me, sir. We might’ve overreacted in the heat of the moment."
"It happens," I said magnanimously, though I wasn’t feeling particularly charitable.
The constable, however, showed no signs of letting me off the hook.
"If you’d be so kind, we’ll need you to come down to the station. You as well, miss."
He turned to the girl, who was still dazed and shaky on her feet. With a surprising amount of care, he helped her stand.
"You won’t resist, will you?" he asked her firmly.
The girl shook her head.
"Good," he said, summing up the situation with an air of satisfaction. Then he shouted to his younger colleague, "Johnny, if the statements match, we’ll need three of them for the report. Let’s go, miss."
The girl obediently followed the constable, her movements sluggish and defeated.
"Wait a moment!" I called out, suddenly remembering something. I bent down to pick up the basket and skirt Cap had left behind.
"This is hers," I explained, holding them up.
The constable gave me a dubious look but didn’t object, and I carried the items over to where the girl was waiting. She glanced at the basket, her expression a mix of surprise and embarrassment, before quietly taking it from my hands.
