Above the Snowline by Steph Swainston

adventurous arranged themselves sitting on the steps or leaning on the post, showing a lot of leg and trailing their feathers.
     
    In came Comet, folding his wings behind him. He was gorgeous . Tall and thin, with a taut body and wonderful cheekbones, jet-black hair cropped very short and ragged, and lots of bracelets which, y’ see, was probably the new fashion. He was wearing army clothes, not the fine suits you expect immortals to wear in the Castle, but a dark jacket and trousers, and a leather knapsack embossed with his Wheel. We were all taking note, but he spoke, very assured, to Spelt in a low voice and we couldn’t hear. Oh, I burned for him, and how! I wanted him more than anything in the world and thought I’d die if I couldn’t have him.
     
    I loved the mystery, y’ see - that we’d never know what secret Imperial business he was about. He would stay a night and then leave, bound for exotic places to parley with the king in a marble palace, or with bigwigs, nabobs and hoitytoits in the city, which I told myself I’d visit one day. But I never will, you know, because I never have enough money.
     
    Spelt nodded and was making a tick in the ledger when in bounded something - so quick it was hard to see - but it skidded to a halt on the floor behind Comet’s boots. It was a girl, but in shape like nothing I’d ever seen. I thought it must be one of the orphans who sometimes came begging for a crust or who throw themselves on our mercy wanting to join the house. The doorman tried to drag her out but Comet placed his hand on her head. ‘No! She’s with me!’
     
    Spelt, who was clutching the ledger to her chest in astonishment, pulled herself together and motioned the doorman away. He went out, casting a glance behind him. Through the fanlight we could see his big shape in the porch, which worried us ’cause he normally stood out of view.
     
    Spelt put her pen down and called, ‘Wagtail!’
     
    Well, I was so envious of Wagtail I could have killed her. She was the girl Comet, having seen us all on display once, had picked out and often asked for when he didn’t want the rigmarole of choosing again. The others gossiped it was because her name was the only one he remembered, but I believed it was because she’d shown the biggest rack of tits on the line-up. She was filthy and had no shame whatsoever - she’d do anything. She read magazines the subject of which would make my hair curl, but hers was quite straight.
     
    Wagtail descended the stairs in a most slinky walk, legs scissoring, bum swaying, head tilted with a slow smile. So much make-up plastered her face she seemed to be wearing a mask. Net tights led down to little patent-leather pumps; her blue silk bodice was wired into an hourglass shape and striped with coral lace. Long strings of fake pearls bounced off her breasts. She blinked underlined eyes and smiled with baby-pink lips.
     
    Comet looked her up and down and cast a speculative eye over the rest of us. We fell into poses as his gaze passed over. Then he indicated the waif-woman by his feet. Spelt nodded and called my name. My name! I couldn’t believe it! Was the Messenger to be my client? I was so heated and flustered, Spelt had to call again, a note of anger in her voice. Ana pushed me, for I was rooted to the spot. The others pulled away with jealous hisses and I followed Wagtail downstairs, primping my hair and tweaking my bra as I passed through the shadows in each storey. Then I reached solid ground in the hall and walked towards . . . the never-dying Emperor’s Messenger, looking carelessly up.
     
    Wagtail was stroking his wing and murmuring in Awian. She led him to the ground-floor suite. The urchin would have followed but Wagtail shut the door firmly in her face.
     
    Spelt said, ‘You take Dellin,’ and gestured at the poor thing. I saw it was a woman older than I’d thought, who looked skinny, in thick white clothes.
     
    ‘What? Do you want me to sleep with