Mickey Zucker Reichert - Shadows Realm by Shadow's Realm (v1.0)

too many things I don’t know. I’ll just have to talk to Shylar. Having made the decision, Taziar slipped into his calmer, competent routine. He turned to the wall, nestling his fingers into chinks between the stones, and scaled it with the ease of long habit. Drawing himself up to the first unshuttered window, he hesitated. Most of the whorehouse’s bedroom business occurred at night, but it was not unusual for the guards on evening shift or night-stalking thieves to bed Shylar’s prostitutes during the daylight hours. Quietly, ears tuned for any sounds from within, Taziar peeked through the window.
    Pale blue curtains tickled his face. Through fabric gauzy as a veil, Taziar studied the room. A bed lay flush with the wall, covered by a disheveled heap of sheets and blankets. Near its foot, a multidrawered dressing table occupied most of the left-hand wall; a crack wound like a spider’s web through a mirror bolted to its surface. Directly across from the window, the door to the hallway stood ajar. Seeing no one in the room, Taziar scrambled inside. Silently, he crept across the floorboards. Pressing his back to the wall that separated the room from the hallway, he listened for footsteps. Hearing none, he peered through the gap.
    The unadorned hallway lay empty. Doors on either side led into bedrooms, some shut, some open and some, like the one Taziar peeked out from, ajar. Familiar with the signals, Taziar knew the closed doors indicated active business, the open doors empty rooms ready for use, and the ajar panels tagged dirtied rooms for the cleaning staff. To Taziar’s right, the hallway ended in a staircase leading to the lower floor. At the opposite end of the hallway, a pair of plain, oak doors closed off the storage areas. Kept in perpetual darkness, these closets could be used to spy on the bargaining rooms below. Across the hall and to Taziar’s left, the doors to Shylar’s bedroom and study lay closed. Slipping into the hallway, he crept toward the madam’s office.
    Taziar had taken only a few steps when a doorknob clicked. A sandal rasped lightly across the wooden floor. Caught between two closed doors, he whirled, tensed for a wild dash back to the bedroom through which he had entered. He found himself facing Varin, a willowy brunette in her twenties. A purple-black bruise circled her left eye, abrasions striped her calves, and several fingers appeared swollen.
    Taziar stared, shocked by Varin’s wounds. Shylar’s rules were strict, protective of her girls almost to a fault. “Varin?” he whispered. Gently, without threat, he shuffled a step toward her.
    Varin’s mouth gasped. Surprise crossed her features, and she raised whitened knuckles to her lips. Yet Taziar also read a more welcoming expression in her dark eyes, a sparkle of hope. “Taz?” Her voice emerged softer than his own. Her face lapsed into terrified creases. “You’ve got to get out of here. Go. Go. Quickly.” She jerked her head about, as if seeking an escape, and her hands fluttered frantically. “Get away. Go!”
    “Varin, please.” Concerned for the woman, Taziar ignored the question of his own safety. “Calm down. Just tell me what’s going on. Who ... ?”
    Varin’s gaze drifted beyond Taziar. Her eyes flared wide, and she screamed. Fixing her stare directly on the Shadow Climber, she screamed again and again, then whirled and raced toward the staircase.
    Taziar’s every muscle tightened. He spun to face a burly, dark-haired strong-arm man he knew by sight but not by name. Before the Climber could speak, the larger man lunged for him. Taziar leaped backward, reeling toward the stairs. The man’s hands closed on air, and he lurched after Taziar.
    Taziar charged down the hallway, not daring to slow long enough to negotiate a corner into one of the rooms. If I pause to climb through a window, he’s got me. Have to get downstairs to the doors.
    The strong-arm man’s cry rang through the whorehouse. “It’s Taz! The