Chapter 5: Desperate Measures, Part 1

Rath woke up sore and still exhausted. He could hear the cry of vendors and shopkeeps outside, the bustle of shoppers, which meant it was well into morning. He groaned as he sat up, wincing at every ache and pain that made itself known.

Last night hadn't been bad as such things went, but he was in no hurry to repeat the venture. At least the group of five lords and ladies had been so pleased they'd left him a full mark tip in addition to the two marks they paid to the house for his services. That was two marks in total for him—a year's worth of wages in one night.

Whoring didn't usually bring in money that good, but between the group service and the fact they were from out of town… Well, one of the reasons he'd become a whore was the money. If not for his father, he'd have been living a lot better than he did.

So two marks down, thirteen to go. If he got another couple of good nights in the brothel, he'd be sure to pull in another mark, possibly two if the Fates would just once show him favor. Add in some purse lifting and turning a few tricks in the streets, and he might be able to pull together five marks. That would hopefully be enough to convince Friar to feel like being generous and give him more time to come up with the rest.

He finally climbed out of bed and walked stiffly across the room to the wash tub someone had been kind enough to leave. The water was warm, not hot, but he wasn't picky. Scrubbing away the mess left by his night, he rubbed a salve into the worst of his bruises and other sore spots. Pulling open the wardrobe, he pulled out the clothes he'd stowed there. He paused as he pulled on his jacket, took it off again, and looked at the worn elbow. Smiled when he saw someone had patched it for him. Looking again, he saw that someone in the brothel had, in fact, cleaned and repaired all his clothes. Probably the cleaning staff, they'd always been kind to him when he'd worked there.

Somewhat cheered about the day ahead, he pulled his jacket back on, ran a comb through his hair, and tucked away the mark his clients had left him as he hastened down to the kitchen by way of the back stairs. "Good morning!" he greeted Bettina, the house cook.

She didn't leave the pot she was stirring, but did look up briefly to smile at him. "There's food on the table for ye."

"You're the best." He sat at the nearest bench and quickly wolfed down the plate of bread with butter and honey, left over bits of cheese, even some slices of tart apple. Someone thunked a mug of ale down in front of him, and he looked up at a smiling Trinira. "Morning."

"Morning, handsome. You must have done a lot right because I rarely get personal thanks from that sort. They paid their balance without even a breath of hesitation." She slid his earnings across the table. He picked them up and tucked them away with his other mark. "You ever want steady work here again, you know it's yours. Coming back tonight?"

He nodded, gulped down the ale. "Yes, since you're so willing. I appreciate it, Trin."

She scoffed at him and drank her own ale. "So I think I might know a way you could earn ten marks, either today or tomorrow, depending."

"I doubt I'm physically capable of something that would earn that much money in two days. I barely made it through all of last night."

Laughing, Trinira playfully slapped his arm. "I think you're underestimating yourself. Lucky for you, though, I wasn't talking about sex when I said I had an idea. I was talking about the Tournament of Losers."

He paused with a last bit of apple halfway to his mouth. "Fates, no. You can't be serious. I want no part of that stupid thing."

"Serious as a priest on prayer day," Trin drawled. "Think about it, darling. You could get through the elimination round easy enough, which puts you in the second round. Everyone who makes it to the second round is given ten marks to cover living expenses while they're competing and unable to work."

Rath opened his mouth, closed it again, then finally ate the bit of apple. "I think you're overestimating my skills, and the first bout of the elimination round is a melee, which is as much luck as skill. I could get my head caved in and come away with nothing but more debts I can't cover."

She shrugged. "If you don't try, you'll never get the money in time, and word on the street is that Friar is out for blood and not feeling terribly inclined toward mercy."

"I see," Rath said and swore softly before finishing off the last few bites of his meal. There went any hope of convincing Friar to give him more time. Ugh, he was going to kill his father three times over for forcing him to get involved in something as stupid as the tournament. "Guess I'd better get to work, then."

Trin stood up with him, caught his arm. "Rath, I don't want you to come to a bad end, especially at Friar's hand, because your father is a fool. Try the tournament; I still think you'd be fine. That's ten slick, and I'll see to it you've got the remaining balance. You can pay me back at easier length. I know you're good for it."

Good to repay three slick, but not thirteen. But Rath couldn't really resent that, given how quickly he lost money because of his father. "I'll do my best not to need that. Guess I'd better give that stupid tournament a try." He groaned at the thought. "I think I'd rather just do group work for a week straight. I swear that would be less exhausting and painful. Not to mention less humiliating."

"Only you would think being a fuck toy is less humiliating than trying to marry into a better life." Trin shook her head. "Get the money and get out. It won't cost you more than a day, two at the most."