Gizzy does Paris
or A Knight on the Town
The Sheriff?s mount plodded wearily into his stall and eyed the contents of his manger with a lack-lustre eye. It had not been a good horse day, and it probably never had been nor ever would be, with a man like Vaisey riding you, thought Guy of Gisborne, with an uncharacteristic twinge of sympathy.
Richie, on the other hand, pricked his ears and whickered companionably at the mare in the next partition, who whisked her tail at him in a flirtatious manner. It seemed his horse was about to enjoy a better night than he was. Here he was in the City of Light and he was committed to dark deeds with his weasel of an employer, who had insisted they visit some den of soi-disant delights called the Moulin Rouge together.
Gisborne had nothing against risqué, au contraire, but if there were any lewd displays to be attended, he preferred to attend them by himself. He feared Vaisey had ulterior motives in getting him hot under the collar. This impression was compounded a little later, as he caught him singing something that sounded rather too much like ??Voulez-vous coucher avec moi? , under his breath as they changed their tunics in the cramped hotel room that was all they could find for the money old tight-fist was prepared to spend. He hoped the sheriff?s Nottanum version of a French accent had caused him to mishear.
Two hours later, and the master at arms was still feeling the pain, despite the copious number of cups he had quaffed. Though the delightful young honey-haired wench who had brought them so willingly, in her form-fitting gown of striped silk spangled with moonstones, was something of a compensation. All the same so, the damnable wine had bubbles, which got up his nose and made him snort. As for the show, it had been like something out of a fever dream. Firstly a young blonde woman with the shortest hair he had ever seen on a female and the most blatantly carmined lips, had come on stage wearing an indecently short white gown of what looked like pleated silk, with very little bodice to it at all. She could not have been feeling overheated with so little cover, but all the same she seemed to feel the need to stand over a ventilation grille, which blew her skirts up, giving a very educational view indeed.
Her performance was even stranger. It was almost as if she knew him. Intimately.
??You made me love you. I didn?t wanna do it, I didn?t wanna do it??
she sang in a breathless little voice, looking straight into his eyes.
??..And all the time you knew it. I guess you always knew it??
Even the sheriff noticed ??Another of your little lepers, Gizzy? ?? he leered.
??You make me happy sometimes, you make me glad??
??Never seen her before in my life, my lord??
?You made me sigh, for I didn?t wanna to tell you, I didn?t wanna tell you
I want some love that?s true, yes I do, indeed I do??
Come to think of it, there had been those times when some wanton female in various but similar guises had come and done unspeakable things to him in his sleep. There was something horribly familiar about the wicked glint in her eye.
?Give me, give me what I cry for.
You know you?ve got the brand of kisses that I?d die for??
She winked hugely and skipped off stage, turning at the wings to look back at him and blow him a kiss from a red-taloned hand.
?You know you made me love you!?
Boop boop-a doop??? What the?????
Fortunately he was saved from prurient interrogation on Vaisey?s part by the next number, which consisted of a troupe of buff shirtless tumblers and knife throwers. The little weasel?s attention was so thoroughly distracted that he sat in silence to the end of the act, then disappeared, having announced he was off to the little boys? room. Gisborne shuddered, but it left him free to enjoy the next number in peace. And this was certainly much more to his taste.
Three lissom creatures that could only loosely be described as ladies, were gyrating in costumes that must have been admirably cheap to produce, given the small quantity of silk and brocade they had required. There was a dainty blonde in rich purple satin, with a handspan waist and a mass of soft curls, a fiery redhead, her draped emerald silks deliciously framing her creamy bosom, and a white-skinned rose brocade-clad darling with hair as dark as his own and eyes he could lose himself in. to say nothing of a large feather fan which she waved sensuously round her slim body.
A matched set for the true connoisseur, Gisborne thought, with one of his wickeder smirks. And there was that song of the sheriff?s, but from far more congenial lips
Gitchi gitchi ya ya da da
Gitchi gitchi ya ya here
Mocha chocolata, ya ya ,,, it went on?
He just might take them up on their invitation, he thought as the delightful number drew to its close. Especially as the sheriff was still not back.
??Bonsoir, Milor? I am Madame Thérèse, the owner of this prime executive establishment?? He turned to see a sophisticated lady in elegant black, who had taken the seat vacated by the sheriff. She had long dark curls, piled on top of her head, soft grey eyes and an indulgent expression. If he had but known it, it had been many moons since the Moulin had welcomed anything other than fat merchants, seedy politicos and weasly sheriffs. Gisborne?s fallen angel face and black leather clad form was a sight for sore and jaded female eyes.
??Ma foi,?? she breathed ??is that a broadsword you ?ave there, or are you just enjoying the show???
???I?d enjoy it a whole lot more if I had something decent to drink, instead of these cursed bubbles,?? he grumbled, snorting and sneezing again. The Gisborne nose was quite a liability when it came to champagne. Besides, this sort of place was ultimately after your money. It didn?t do to appear too satisfied a customer.
??Oh, so morose?? the lady pouted. ??Your friend, he has been spoiling your fun? Not a man of discernment I think. Those black silk pyjamas were not a good look..? Forget him. We have ways of dealing with weasels here. He will not be back in a ?urry. Enjoy!?? She waved her arm expansively to take in the luxurious salon, with its many candles and rich drapery and friendly women in varying states of undress.
??Just bring me the ale?? he growled.
Thérèse nodded sagely. ??Ah! Angst! Milor? ?as been unlucky in love, peut-etre? But tant pis. Sometimes second- best is not so bad, if it comes in enough quantity.?? The dancers had been sitting on the side of the stage, giggling and shooting glances across at their patronne and her companion, and she beckoned them over.
??Tiens. Why don?t you avail yourself of one of our private salons? On the house, bien sûr, for a fine gentleman like you, Our luscious Lola will feed you chocolate bon-bons, will you not, ma petite? My little blonde Parma violet Cassandre will pour your ale. And Fleur, gentle Fleur, will fan your fevered brow. While I???
Gisborne appraised her from under his ridiculously long and slightly suspect lashes. ??And you, Madame, what will you do???
She bent and whispered something in his ear. He blinked, but rose with no discernable reluctance, and prowled off after them through the crowd. He was suddenly jealous of Richie no longer.
FIN.
P. S. Anyone who wants a PM from Guy to tell you what Mme T said to him, you know what to do.
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