Malden headed across the city again, this time taking the bridge that ran high over the Skrait to the Royal Ditch. He kept clear of the Goshawk Road there—that place was only for the sons of rich men, idle and carrying too much coin for their own good. They would have been an attraction for a man with his deft fingers if not so well-guarded. At every corner of the Goshawk Road armed men lounged, looking out for people like Malden. The guards, employed by the gambling houses and upscale brothels of the Road, would take him down an alley and beat him senseless without bothering to ask any questions first.

Besides, Malden’s destination was in a far more humble part of the Royal Ditch. A part of the city he knew very well. He should, since after all it was where he’d grown up. As he headed down Pokekirtle Lane, a few haggard whores leaned out of doorways to shout propositions at him, but he ignored them. Too drunk to recognize him, they let him pass without impugning his manhood too severely.

Malden had to knock on the door of the Lemon Garden for ten minutes before he was answered—and then only from a window on the second story. Elody, the madam of the house, leaned out into the dusk, her shoulders barely covered by a frayed silk shawl. She clucked her tongue down at him. “Sorry, love, we’re not open yet. Come back after dark.”

“Afraid a customer will see the pox sores on your rump if they aren’t hidden by darkness?” Malden asked.

Elody’s painted face turned dark with anger—until he stepped back away from the door so she could see him. Then a wide grin split her face, showing her missing teeth. “Malden! It’s been ages!”

It was true. It had been years since he’d returned to his childhood home.

Elody slammed the door shut, and he heard her racing down the stairs to get the door. She must have alerted the others inside to his presence, because half a dozen girls were squeezed in the portal when it opened, all of them giggling and simpering for him. He favored them with a warm smile, and a dozen soft hands pulled him inside and shut the door after him. The older “girls,” some of whom had worked alongside his mother, tousled his hair and poked him in the ribs to see if he’d gained any weight. The younger doxies reached for other parts of him, only to have their hands slapped away by Elody.

“He isn’t here for that,” she scolded, “you spavined sluts. Malden’s not a customer. He’s family. He could have girls younger and more talented than you for the price of asking but he never does.”

“Maybe he just hasn’t tried someone his own size yet,” a slender girl said.