Beginnings

Laurence weighed the pouch in his hand. It bulged comfortably, tied off with twine. He could feel the prickly fragments of leaf through the fabric and hear the faint rustle as they rubbed against each other. A bag of yadna leaves like this would fetch a decent price on the black market.

"Well done, Zylene." He threw the bag onto the table. "How did you do it?"

"Does it matter?" she asked, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. She placed her hands on her hips. "What about my reward?"

Laurence grinned at her. "Yes, actually it does matter, but you're right. Where are my manners?" He produced a purse from his pocket. It clinked as he threw it to her. "As agreed."

Zylene caught the purse with one hand and dumped the contents onto her palm. Gold glittered in the firelight.

"Well?" Laurence asked, a trace of impatience in his voice.

Having assured herself of the amount in the purse, Zylene quickly stuffed it out of sight. "I followed Smoky last night. He didn't see me. He met Kenny, that skinny little man with the mole on his chin, behind the Cracker Barrel."

"Was anyone else there?"

"No, none that I saw, but it was pretty dim and I didn't dare get too close."

"How did you know it was Kenny then?"

"Well he's the only one I know who walks with a hopping limp like that."

Laurence nodded, satisfied. It fit with what he had been thinking himself. Zylene's nervous shift caught his attention. "Was there something else?"

"No..." her voice trailed off. He gave her a sharp look. "Well, it's just that...if you're not going to use it..." she glanced at the pouch sitting so innocently upon the table.

Laurence blinked at her, startled. "Mother of God," he growled. In two strides he had reached the table and with one motion scooped up the bag and sent it into the fireplace.

"What're you doing?" she cried, leaping toward the fire. He was quicker, and intercepted her with an arm. The smell of burning yadna filled the room. "What the hell did you do that for?" she demanded furiously, tears starting up in her eyes. "That bag could've lasted me for weeks!" She tore herself free and gave him a shove.

Laurence thrust his hands into his pockets and raised a mocking eyebrow, which only infuriated her more. "Little girl," he said, his voice amused and condescending, "I just did you the biggest favor you've probably ever received. Is trying to shove me into the fire any way to show your gratitude?"

"Don't talk to me like that, you--you--" she gave her eyes an angry swipe, trying to think of something bad enough to call him.

"I believe the term you're looking for is 'son of a bitch'."

"Fuck you!"

Laurence winced. "You should have your mouth washed out with soap."

With a choked scream of frustration, she swung at him, unable to contain her disappointment. Laurence caught her arm effortlessly. "Enough!" he didn't raise his voice, but the teasing quality was gone now, replaced with a menacing quiet. Suddenly frightened, she looked into his face. His eyes gazed into hers, deadly serious. Her breath caught in her throat. They were alone in a room he had rented, in an unfamiliar quarter of town, and she was acutely aware of his physical strength, something she had never noticed before. His grip on her arm was painful, the ease with which he had stopped her humiliating. They stood almost pressed to each other, and she could feel the heat of his body through his coat. Involuntarily, she shuddered.

Laurence smiled, but there was no mockery now, only an acknowledgement of her fear. He released her and she staggered back a step. Then, as if a mask had fallen back into place, he chuckled ruefully, shaking his head. His eyes regained their usual ironic gleam. So complete was the transformation that only the red marks left on her arm convinced Zylene that she had really seen the other, frightening aspect of him.

"Oh Zylene," he sighed. "So young you don't even know what youth is."

"You're no greybeard yourself," she muttered, indignant at his comment but too subdued to give it full vent. After all, he was only two or three years older!

"True enough," he agreed. He sat carefully on one of the rickety chairs and gestured her to another. When she didn't move, he shrugged. "Zylene, what do you want from life?"

"What?" She gave him a confused look. Where had this come from? Her eyes darted to the door, but he was sitting between her and escape.

"What do you want from life?" he repeated patiently, keeping his eyes fixed on her. "Fame? Fortune? The chance to tell everyone you don't like that they can go to hell?"

She brought her attention back to him, ready with a sharp retort, but bit back the words. She eyed him critically. He was being serious. His tone was light, but a slight frown creased his forehead and she could detect no derision in his expression. She rolled her eyes. "What do I want from life? How about a mansion and a hundred servants and caviar and wine for every meal? Why? You think I should charge you more?"

He laughed, his teeth flashing white. "You wouldn't like caviar. Try truffles." He sobered again. "Seriously though. Haven't you ever thought about it?"

Zylene snorted, unsure whether she was more astonished or flabbergasted at his questions. "Why does it matter? Why should you even care?"

"Oh, I do care. I care very much. And it matters because I think we want the same things."

"Don't pretend like you know what I want! You don't even know me!"

A brief expression of impatience passed over Laurence's face. "You're a desperate whore working for a two-bit pimp, only one step inside the door from a street brat and so low in the hierarchy of your 'sisters' that you'd have to start digging to get any lower. Sound about right?"

Zylene clenched her fists and made no answer.

"But I've seen the way you look at Lola and Miranda and their incessant bickering, and I don't think you want to end up like them either. Top she-cat to Smoky's rather pathetic posse is a bare half-rung up the ladder from nothing. I should hope you have more fire and guts than to settle for that for the rest of your life."

Still, she kept silent, but this time it was because she had no answer to give. He was right, but she'd be damned if she told him so.

Laurence rose and approached her, his eyes intense and focused. "It's hard, y'know, to start climbing when you're at the very bottom. Hard to know how to begin when you've had no experience." He circled behind her, his hands caressing her shoulders, thumbs pressing down in gentle circles. Zylene suppressed the urge to twist her neck around to see him. Though she was still afraid and uncertain of him, her curiosity was stirred. Never had anyone talked to her like this, understood her like this. They were more alike than she had imagined.

Laurence's hands stopped their soothing motion, though they remained on her shoulders. Zylene stiffened, wondering what he was up to. Suddenly, his voice spoke right next to her head. She jumped involuntarily. "It's power, Zylene," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. "That's what you want from life. It can grant riches, influence, impunity. It can lift you out of this stinking hole and to heights you've only ever dreamed about. We both have ambitions. We could help each other, you and I. We could be allies."

His hands turned her and she found herself in his embrace. She gazed into his eyes, dark as the midnight sky. The arms encircling her felt rock solid. She could faintly smell the pleasant odor of good tobacco that clung to him. When he gently brushed his lips against her forehead, she felt the rough tickle of his mustache and goatee. She closed her eyes and reminded herself to continue breathing.

"How about it Zylene?" his voice was soft, persuasive. He nuzzled her neck. "You and I, and the rest of the world be damned?"

Without a word, Zylene returned his embrace. Her mouth found his. It was answer enough.

***

Laurence gave the figure on the bed a rueful look as he pulled on his coat. Amazing how peaceful Zylene looked when asleep. No sign of the fire that lay just below the surface. Laurence hesitated a moment, but decided to let her sleep. He finished dressing and slipped out the door, quietly shutting it behind him.

Outside, the streets where just beginning to stir. Laurence wove his way through the early-morning traffic, a satisfied smile on his lips. Their night together had been fierce and passionate, all the more intense for the understanding that bound them. Between the bouts of lovemaking, he had outlined a simple plan that would help her start her rise out of the gutters. Of his own goals, he spoke little.

Someday, Zylene might prove to be useful. Someday, she might be a powerful ally. For now, Laurence was content to get her started, give her a chance to show she was worth his time. His own plans were many and none were close to fruition; there was little he could do at present save wait. If push came to shove, he would not hesitate to use and discard Zylene, and he had no doubt that as she gained in sophistication, she would feel the same about him.

Someday, Zylene might become an enemy.