Vish walked back to the heart of Tindra, supporting Gling at arm’s length. She, no, he stumbled and tripped with every irregularity in the road. The mind-mapper struggled to keep him upright, especially at the distance he insisted on maintaining.

“So weird, so weird, so weird,” Vish muttered under his breath.

“I can’t believe I let Natasha get to that state,” Gling bemoaned for the umpteenth time that afternoon.

Before they could proceed with their plan, Lydia had been given the dubious task of washing months of travelling and adventuring grime from Gling’s body. They had initially given the task to Blabriel, but her enthusiasm had waned when she found a louse in her own armpit hair. Blabriel experimentally drowned the creature in a puddle, and then spent the rest of the bathing period trying to coax it into moving again. After that, they had taken a vote and, much to Lydia’s consternation, it had been deemed that the most appropriate course of action was to delegate the task to the only other woman in their band.

Lydia tackled the task with gusto, if not relish. Her approach consisted of respectfully, and delicately, hurling buckets of water at Gling until he was either clean or drowned, whichever came first. She claimed not to care which, but Lydia’s expression at the end of it all told them that she was not especially pleased with the outcome.

“Yeah, we get it, you’re a terrible brother and human being. Now hurry up and, while you’re at it, shut up; every time you speak it gives me the creeps,” Vish shuddered.

“You weren’t so bothered earlier.”

“Funny thing, that. Somewhere between you tripping over your sister’s feet and you washing your sister’s body, things got a little bit weird, what can I say?”

“I didn’t wash my sister’s body…” Gling grumbled. Although, when the wind shifted, he wondered if maybe he should have; the efficacy of projectile buckets was apparently limited.

They arrived at the jutting porch of Chloe’s.

“Oooh, boy,” Vish said, “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Gling gave a sharp nod, almost toppling forward as he did.

“Oh yeah, no, this is going to be great,” the mind-mapper exhaled.

“Are you panicking, Vish?”

“You’re alright, you look like a girl – even more so than usual – if shit goes wrong in there it’s my ass which will get barbequed by a fanatical flame-mage.”

“You’re overthinking things. The odds are Tulc-”

A gentleman in a black coat and a tall, conical black hat moved between them.

“Good evening, good evening,” the pock-marked man said to them in turn, with a tip of his hat. He had a gentle, familiar sort of face.

Here was a good opportunity to practice, to really get into character.

“Why helloooo,” Gling chirped back nasally.

The man eyed Gling suspiciously, “Umm, yes, hello,” he half-smiled, and quickly shuffled inside.

Gling watched the door slam shut in their faces.

“… Too much?”

“Too much.”

“I’ll work on it. Come on, this probably isn’t the best place to chat.”

They eventually mustered the courage to head inside and get the operation underway. Gling was feeling surprisingly calm, all things considered. It was Vish who looked like he might shit a brick.

Chloe met them personally and, after a brief but bizarre interaction, she instructed them to head into the back and get ready for the night’s festivities.

A full-bodied lady with painted on eyebrows was waiting for them backstage. She held a feathered fan in one hand that fluttered rhythmically in front of her face, giving anyone speaking to her the impression that they were blinking rapidly.

“Fresh blood, how delightful!” she squealed at the newcomers, “Ms. Devant, at your service. And in what capacity might you two ducklings be joining us this evening? Madam Chloe hadn’t told me to expect a new act,” she pouted.

There was a brief pause and a sharp elbow before Vish remembered that he was supposed to be taking the lead on this one, “Oh, uh, no, nothing quite like that… Unless you’re in need of a cricket act? Ow!” he exclaimed at the second elbow.

“Oh, heavens, I’m afraid we already have a cricket act.”

“Wow, really?”

“I’d wager that little man takes home more than Chloe at the end of a night,” she sniggered.

Vish turned to Gling, “I am definitely in the wrong business.”

“Actually,” Gling said, ignoring the rogue mind-mapper, “we are going to be helping out the serving staff tonight.”

“Oh… waitresses,” Ms. Devant declared from over her nose, her demeanor suddenly changed.

“Waitresses?” Vish objected.

“Do you know where we might be able to get uniform for the evening?” Gling continued.

“Serving girls off to the left, the floor boys are on the right,” she gestured with her fan, now thoroughly disinterested in the pair.

“Floor boys?”

“Thank you very much for your time, Ms. Devant, I’m sure you have other, more pressing, matters to attend to.”

The woman gave a nasal squeak of acknowledgement, and shooed them away.

“Floor boys?” Vish repeated.

“Swallow your pride for a couple of hours, Vish; it’s not going to be that bad. Now, run along, floor boy. Just remember, if we keep a positive attitude and stay focused on the task at hand, we’ll be laughing all the way to the bank. We’ve got a solid plan, we’ve got the right people for the job, and we’ve got an opportunity to really show the world who we are!”

Invigorated by his own words, Gling turned and marched to the women’s changing room. The taste of success tantalizing his tongue, and the prospect of victory adding wings to his feet.

Gling stared miserably at his uniform for the evening.

“Shiiiit.”

One of the other servers seemed to notice Gling’s discomfort, and approached with a soft smile and warm eyes, “Don’t worry honey, we all thought it was a little tasteless at first, but you get used to it, I promise. Besides, it’s actually kinda flattering,” she said with a twirl.

The lady’s skirts followed her pirouette like the wake of a ship. The rest of her stayed perfectly in place, glued in position by a vice-like bodice. Her shoulders, slender arms, dainty throat and... a bit more, were exposed to the warm air.

Gabriel’s stomach heaved.

“Oh, Hannah, you’re scaring the poor girl!” one of the older ladies said, rushing to hug Gling protectively, “Pay her no mind, I promise you all eyes will be on the stage tonight. There’s a hell of a show billed, and the gawkers can never peel their attention away long enough to give us so much as a ‘thank you, ma’am’,” she rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

“Don’t remind me, Liza,” the girl called Hannah said, shaking her brunette pigtails, “it’s going to be a slow night for tips,” she sighed.

“You wanna hop up on stage, then be my guest, I’ll take a quiet night of serving drinks,” Liza said, tying back her raven hair into a bun that accentuated the sharp angles of her porcelain face.

“You always manage to rake in the tips Hannah, so don’t you start. I see you putting that extra wiggle on when you serve your tables, you little hussy,” a midnight-skinned woman, sat at a vanity mirror, called over her shoulder playfully.

“I guess I am guilty of putting the girls to work,” Hannah winked.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Gling said.

“Oh, honey, honey, no. Here, take a seat, we’ll get you sorted in no time. You’ll feel completely different with some slap on and your hair all done up,” Liza surveyed the tangled mess of red strands, “speaking of, you spent the last few night’s sleeping in a bush? When was the last time this hair saw a comb?”

“Maybe she was tumbling in the hay, instead,” Hannah said, nudging Gling.

“You’re projecting again,” the dark-skinned woman stated.

“Awh, I’m just having some fun with her, Thessy. Don’t be such a prude.”

“Well,” Liza said, getting back to business, “whatever the reason, we’ve got our work cut out for us. Now, go ahead and get out of those clothes, new girl, and we’ll get you fixed up.”

“I’d really rather not.”

“Well you’re going to have a tough time putting this on over the top of them, let me tell you,” Hannah said, stroking her corset.

Gling groaned, and set about taking off the top couple of layers.

“Come on, hun’. Undress like your favourite mister just rode back into town.”

Gabriel groaned a little more.

“It’s Natasha, by the way, isn’t it?” Liza asked.

“Oh, gods, no. Definitely not.”

“I think it’s a pretty name!” Hannah said reassuringly.

“Yeah, it is, but that’s not, umm, me.”

“What do we call you then?”

“Oh, gods. I guess… Gling?”

“Gling? That’s exotic,” Hannah frowned.

“Well, Gling, honey,” Liza said, leaning close, “it’s generally easier to get undressed if you have your eyes open.”

“Yeeah, can’t do that.”

“Why the heavens not?”

“I’m, umm, saving myself for marriage.”

Gabriel could hear the girls exchanging looks.

“Saving… your eyes for marriage?”

“Yeah. It’s a religious thing, part of the Church of Virtues: ‘see not’eth, the naked flesh of… thyself… lest thee be wed.’ …Yeah, that’s it.”

“That’s, uh, some strict religion you’ve got there,” Liza said.

“I pay my dues to the Virtues, and I don’t remember hearing any teaching like that,” Hannah said curiously.

“Yeah, it’s a very conservative branch.”

“Right,” Liza said, “Well, how do y’all normally get dressed then?”

“My sister does it,” Gling sighed.

Liza clucked her tongue a few times, “Well, I guess we’ll just have to be your sisters for today, then.”

Hannah was still incredulous, “Well if you’re shy about seeing yourself naked then, not gonna lie, this is going to be a long night for you,” she sympathised, before adding, “Corset!”

“What was that now?”

“Breathe in!”

Gling’s head shot from left to right as his sightless eyes struggled to understand what was happening around him.

“Breathing? I am breathing!”

“In! Breathe in!” Gabriel was pretty sure that was Hannah talking.

“Sharp inhalation, honey,” Liza instructed, “Suck it up, like this,” it sounded like someone had sat on an empty water skin.

“I don’t know about this!” Gling pleaded.

Gling could feel something clutching at his front like a second ribcage.

“It’ll all be over soon, honey, don’t you worry,” that was definitely Hannah again.

“What will be over? What’s happening?”

“We’re going to cinch. Ready?”

“Cinch? Cinch what?”

“Three.”

“Now just hold on.”

“Two.”

“Let’s talk about this”

“One!”

Across the rooftops of Tindra, birds took flight into the evening sky, beating their wings in hasty retreat as they left this cursed town and sought sanctuary in the harsh, unforgiving wilderness.

“Ooooooooooowwwwww,” Gling howled in banshee castrato.

“What? What’s the matter? Are you… Oh,” Hannah said.

“What happened? Are you okay, honey? Did… Ah,” Liza said.

“What’s this now?” Thessy wondered aloud, “… Huh.”

“Eesh.”

“Ouch.”

“Yikes.”

The ladies said in turn.

“You’re, uh,” Hannah cleared her throat, “you’re supposed to untuck those, honey.”

Gling whimpered.

“You just, sort of, hold them up a little,” Liza added apologetically.

Gling was bent over in unfamiliar agony.

“You know what, let me get you a tot of brandy before we try again,” Hannah said, scampering away.

“Yeah… That might be best,” Gling croaked.

A good deal later, Gling emerged on the cabaret floor, bedecked in blue skirts of varying hues and skin that was almost as red as his hair. He hobbled precariously on heeled shoes, his legs akimbo, like he was astride a horse.

Vish spotted Gling edging into the light and sailed over to meet him. The mind-mapper was sporting a tray, and had a towel draped over one arm. His garb was a close-fitting silk robe in periwinkle blue, that, actually, looked like it was right out of Vish’s regular wardrobe.

“What took you so long?”

“There were,” Gling went to cross his arms over his chest but thought better of it, “complications.”

“Time to uncomplicate them; Goyun’s here. I’ve been holding off on his order for a quarter turn now, just so you can step up and serve him,” Vish grumbled.

“You’re a martyr to the cause,” Gling drawled.

“Just hurry up and do what you need to do. I don’t like this one bit.”

Gling noted the perspiration on the mind-mappers brow, “What’s up with you? You look less like you in your skin than I do not me in… not my skin. I thought wandering around a cabaret would be right up your street,” Gling noted.

“Well, I’m more practiced at being a customer than a server.”

“Don’t worry so much. You’re going to be pretty much invisible. The girls and I were just talking about that, actually.”

“’The girls and I’?” Vish raised an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean,” Gling snarled, “The customers are going to be intent on the show. We’ll be able to move around freely without anyone thinking anything of it. You can relax. They’re not here to watch you; they’re here to watch…” Gling turned towards the stage and froze.

A fur-coated Rhoskin of some antelope persuasion was busy setting up a rig that looked like a cross between a trapeze and a trebuchet. The Rhoskin was being assisted by what could only be described as a translucent amorphous blob. The blob was wearing a thong.

“You know what, I don’t want to know.”

“This actually looks pretty tame compared to the first act,” Vish informed him.

“Just, give me that damn tray. What’s Goyun having?”

“Get your own. I’ve got a job to do here.”

Gling was aghast, “Yes, you do have a job, and this is not it. What the hell? I can’t get you to work at things you’re supposed to be doing.”

“You should try tipping me. That lady over there gave me a silver just for handing her a cocktail. Can you believe that? You can bet your ass I’m going to make sure she gets one of those mini umbrellas in her next one,” Vish smiled at the lady in question, a large woman with proportions similar to the Rhoskin’s assistant.

She waved back enthusiastically.

“I’m so glad all of that charm isn’t going to waste. Now, Goyun’s order, if you so please.”

“Oh, right,” Vish tugged at his beard, “he wants a glass of Cheblin Moofry. It was something like that.”

“Chevlin Moovry, got it.”

Gling stomped off towards the bar to fetch the order. He spied Goyun near the center of the room, and switched from a stomp to a glide. He plastered a dainty smile to his face and swayed his arms gently with each sweeping step, as if he were wading through the cool waters of a pool of lilies, basking in the glory of another wonderful spring day.

“What’s the matter with you?” the bartender asked when Gling approached, “Why you prancing about like that?”

“Prancing? What? I was being ladylike, you tit.”

“Wha’d you say to me?”

“Oh, I, umm,” Gling couldn’t think of what else to do, so he covered his mouth and giggled, extra-girlishly, “A glass of Cheblin Moovly, please,” and then as an after-thought, “my good man.”

The bartender frowned so deeply that his brow near touched the soles of his feet. Still, he reached behind him and fished out an ancient looking brown bottle. He uncorked it and poured out a generous helping, plonking the goblet down on a tray in front of Gling.

“You’re weird,” he finally decided.

“Tosser,” Gling said under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

The evening had barely started and Gling was already tired of this nonsense. His feet already ached, and he could barely breathe. All in all, it was rapidly getting to be a bit too much. He blew a lock of red hair from his eye and took a sip of his drink to calm down.

As he savoured the odd combination of dark fruits and old leather, Gling remembered that this was not, in fact, his drink.

“Oh, shit,” he said, as he spat the contents back into the glass, “Oh shit!” he said, as he realized he had just spat the contents back into the glass.

Gling scanned the nearby faces but it was clear that nobody had noticed his antics; all eyes were transfixed on the stage, or otherwise averted from it in delectable disgust. Gling opted not to look, but he could hear a single note from a pan flute being played with each pained exhalation from someone, or something. The sound was accompanied by a rhythmic creaking that seemed to be escalating in intensity as it de-escalated in speed, and a wet, slapping sound. Gling tried not to let his imagination wander.

“Okay, show time,” Gling smiled to himself, as he stalked seductively towards Goyun.

‘Okay, Gabriel, this isn’t so hard, one foot forward, next foot ahead, but in line. That’s right, let those hips sway. Whoa, careful now, nothing less attractive than falling over. Heel, toe, heel, toe. There we go, slow and steady. You are a strong, confident woman.’

Goyun looked away from the show he had been immersed in to watch his waitress tiptoe towards him as if she were walking a tightrope.

“Hello, stranger,” Gling said, letting each syllable draw out, “enjoying the show, uh, big guy?” he winked.

Goyun’s mouth hung open a little, “Uh, yes.”

“I bet. I’m surprised they can even perform up there, with such a handsome man watching them from the audience. I know I’d be distracted.”

“Quite. Can I have my drink, please?” Goyun prompted.

“Oh, bollocks, yeah, sorry!” Gling slapped his forehead, reprimanding himself, and plonked the goblet unceremoniously down on the table.

“Thank you.”

“No stress,” Gling made to leave, “Oh, wait, I mean,” he cleared his throat, “There you go, big guy. This one’s on the house.”

“Oh, is it?”

“Uh, actually, no, sorry, I don’t think Chloe would allow that. I’m not sure why I said that, to be honest. Oh! What I meant was, this one’s on me,” Gling winked, “or at least, I bet you would like it to be on me.”

When no response was forthcoming, Gling pointed at his chest.

“Ah, I see what’s happening here.”

“You do?” Gling said with genuine surprise.

“Indeed I do.”

Goyun fished around in his pocket and withdrew a copper coin. He pressed the coin into Gling’s hand.

“There you go, dear. But, perhaps a little faster next time, yes?” he gave Gling a quick smile and then returned to his show.

The merchant sipped his drink and eyed it curiously.

Gling watch as Gabriel swirled the reconstituted wine around and decided that there would probably be better opportunities to chat. He slunk away, dejected.

“Excuse me, miss,” a friendly young man beckoned from one of the tables Gling passed, “Would you be so kind as to fetch me another beer?”

“Oh, piss off, will you,” Gling replied, “Ah-ha-ha-ho, I meeeean, coming right up!”

Gabriel quickly found out that being a waitress on a busy night in a popular venue is not all that fun. The patrons seemed to be suffering from dropsy, judging by the amount of liquid they got through. Somehow, there was always someone in need of a drink, and always something that needed wiping, removing or sweeping. It was genuinely hard work.

In the next turn of the clock, Gling had precisely three sorties with Goyun, all of which ended similarly to the first. Goyun’s eyes would occasionally leave the stage, but they never seemed to fall on Gling. Gabriel hoped he hadn’t made an irredeemably bad first impression.

Shortly after his third failure, Gling was distracted from the table he was clearing by the entrance of three familiar faces, and not ones that he relished seeing.

Figo had added something to his hair for the occasion, and Lydia had removed some of the gore from her armour, but it was him, well, Blabriel, that really caught Gling’s attention. Gabriel saw his body strut into the room to a rattling chorus of bells and chattering jewellery. Seeing himself laughing at himself had been bizarre. Seeing himself bedecked in a catalogue of metals vast enough to give a prospector wet dreams, well, that was just plain wrong.

An unbidden observation was made at this point - Whilst a youthful looking lady wearing bangles and hoops looks quaint, quirky, fun, perhaps a little on the cavalier/gypsy side, a gentleman wearing the same amount of ornamentation looks like only one of two things: a pimp or a pirate.

Gling watched in horror as his body traversed the room in all the finery and filigree he had earlier scraped from the one he was now using, and wondered if he would ever be able to show his face, that face, in Tindra again.

Blabriel, on the other hand, was loving it. She moved across the floor like a buccaneer sauntering across the deck of his ship, resplendent in his hard-won plunder. She clapped folk on the shoulder, took sips out of gentlemen’s drinks, and even gave Hannah a peck on the cheek, edging that bit closer to the ‘pimp’ side of the scale.

Apparently, there was still enough of Natasha left to really, really enjoy Gabriel’s discomfort.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell her to exercise a little restraint, Figo?” Gling growled at his wincing underling.

“Oh, err, she was very insistent. Sorry.”

“It’s hard enough trying to get Goyun’s attention with that going on,” Gling indicated the stage where a half-orc-half-dwarf was leading a heifer up the steps and into a paddling pool filled with foam, “I certainly don’t need the added distraction of a human wind-chime.”

Blabriel grinned mischievously at her brother and sat down triumphantly.

At least, she tried to sit down triumphantly. Instead, she yelped like a kicked dog and sprang up so fast she almost hit the ceiling, drawing the attention of everyone in the room, including the cow.

“What, what’s the matter?” Gling asked hurriedly.

Blabriel looked down in answer, to where she was cupping a body part that she had just learned it was very, very painful to sit down on.

“Oooooph,” Gling said.

“Oooooph,” Figo said.

“Oooooph,” a dozen other men in the vicinity said.

Gabriel did wonder if there was some poetic justice here, considering what he had put her body through earlier, but quickly decided, nope, fuck that, empathy did not apply when you had just seen your bollocks mistaken for a cushion. For the first time that day, he was not in a rush to get his body back.

“I’m going to get you some ice,” he said resignedly, “Figo, teach her how to sit, for gods’ sake. And you! Get your hands away from there!” he snapped at Blabriel.

It took Gling another half-turn to sort out his friends and sister, during which he almost entirely forgot about Goyun. When the merchant did hail him for another drink, Gling decided it was all or nothing time.

This time, when Gling plonked down Goyun’s wine, he also plonked down his butt.

“Ah, Cheblin Moodly, my personal favourite,” Gling purred.

“Chetlin Mouvret.”

“That’s what I said.”

“No, you said, ‘Cheblin Moodly’.”

“Right, Chetlin Moovly.”

“Mouvret.”

“Movree.”

Goyun fanned his fingers out on the table, “Listen, miss, perhaps Chloe has put you up to this, but I promise you I am here on my best behavior this evening. I just want to have a,” he shifted a little, “sensible amount of wine, and watch some quality entertainment,” he waved towards the stage where something was bleating, “I really do not want to be hassled, and I do not want any trouble.”

Gling tapped a finger on his knee, “Is that what you are worried about? Mistress Chloe didn’t send me!” he giggled coquettishly, “It’s just that, I think you are such an interesting man. I just want to get to know you a little better, that’s all.”

Pop!

A small, whicker ball skittered across the table, launched from the direction of the stage.

“That’s really very sweet of you, but I do actually just want to watch the show. Chloe brings in the most astonishing talents, and it’s quite a treat for a small-town merchant,” he said a little more politely than before.

“I agree, Chloe certainly has an eye for, uh, class.”

Pop!

“Yes, I must admit that she does have,” his eyes flicked over Gling’s shoulder, “exquisite taste.”

“Obviously, she found me, didn’t she?” Gling said, accompanied by a close approximation of a sultry smile.

Pop!

This time the ball barely missed Gling’s head.

“Uh, yes, I suppose she did.”

“So, you like me?”

“You are, um, very nice, and, uh, comely,” again his eyes glanced over Gling’s shoulder, “in a traditional sense, that is. The trouble is, I find that my tastes are somewhat more, umm, exotic, these days. I have branched out, somewhat. You see, he held up his glass, I find that beauty is as varied as the notes and characters of wine. Yesterday, a Kaden grape. Today? Perhaps a Morghilian blend. Do you see?”

“Oh, I’m sure I have plenty of depth, complexity and,” Gling leant forward, “character.”

“Bakaw!”

A chicken landed in Gling’s lap.

Gling suppressed the urge to flip his lid and decided to go with it. He leant back in his chair, and stroked the chicken like a cat.

Goyun expression changed to one of intrigue.

“Perhaps I have a few surprises for you yet,” Gling said silkily.

Gling went to caress Goyun’s leg with his foot, but kicked him in the shin instead.

“Aether!”

“Shite.”

“You kicked me!”

“Umm, surprised?”

“I, what? Why, yes, I suppose I am,” he confessed.

“You are going to love what I have in store for you then. So, what do you say we take this upstairs?”

The merchant looked like he was toying with the idea, but a final glance over Gling’s shoulder made up his mind, “No, no, sorry. You seem like a nice girl, you’re just,” he stroked his goatee, “not what I’m in the mood for right now.”

“Bawk!” the chicken said as it was launched off of Gling’s lap.

“Fine! You don’t know what you’re missing,” Gling said, flicking his hair defiantly.

Gling resisted a curious urge to throw Goyun’s wine in his face. He couldn’t fathom why he would even want to do that, but somehow it just felt right.

He should have been meditating on what a total failure the plan had become, but, as Gling stormed away, something Goyun had said kept replaying in the mercenary’s head. There was something familiar about one of the comments the merchant had made, he just couldn’t put his finger on what.

A moment later, Gling realized what had been stealing the merchant’s attention.

Things clicked into place.

“Ooooh,” the redhead declared to himself, “Well, that makes sense.”

Vish made a beeline for Gling, “Hey, how’d it go?”

“Not well.”

“Shit. So, this was all for nothing?”

“Pretty much.”

“What do we do now?”

“Well, I have a new plan.”

“You do? What?”

“You see, I couldn’t seduce Goyun because he wasn’t interested in me. I mean, obviously, what other reason can there be?” Gling unconsciously played with his hair.

“Is that rhetorical?”

The mercenary captain put his hands on his hips, “What are you trying to say? Anyway, it’s not important. The important thing is that he wasn’t interested me, but he was interested in someone else. Therefore, we still have a chance.”

“So, we just have to convince whoever it is that he has his eye on to get him upstairs for us,” Vish followed the thought process.

“Exactly.”

“Great!” Vish looked relieved, “So, who’s Goyun interested in?”

Gling coughed daintily.

“Who’s Goyun interested in, Gabe?”

“Uhhh,” the captain scratched his nose absently.

“Gabe? Come on man, tell me. Who’s he interested in? Who’s he interested in, Gabe? … Gabe? … Gabe?”