21st Day of Goodmonth, 565 CY
The Rose, Suderham, The Pomarj
Not bad, Zantac thought as he looked around.
The interior of The Rose was lit from a fire burning in a large copper brazier in the middle of the room. The metal container was encircled by engraved decorations of snake-like dragons. The red-colored flame within was real, not magical, as Lord Andrew and Unru could feel its warmth even from the door. There was a faint smell of incense in the air as well.
The duo had just entered a room that was approximately fifty feet square, far larger than any brothel room Zantac had ever been in- but then, Suderham's dwellings seemed to be built to excess as a matter of course; perhaps, he thought, as a result of the relatively small population.
Aside from the exterior stone wall, all the interior walls here seemed to be made of a dark red wood. Paintings and tapestries of roses adorned each one. The floor was covered with an irregular mosaic of light and grey stone tiles, with the exception of red tiles that formed a path from the doorway, encircled the brazier, and then led towards an archway on the right wall, which was covered by a curtain of red fabric.
On the far side of the room, the Madam of the Rose reclined on a black leather divan, watching them.
She was small; barely clearing five feet, Zantac guessed. Her almond-shaped eyes hinted at what Andrew first took to be elven ancestry, but the bright red kimono she wore marked her as being from Kara-Tur, or at least of such descent.
Her age was hard to determine, as little of her body was visible. Her hands were pale, with many age spots visible even from this distance, but her face was clean and free of wrinkles, although now it seemed to Zantac as if her skin had been stretched somehow at some time over her cheekbones. The overall effect was intriguing, but clearly not very natural. Her hair, done up in a bun, was an almost glossy raven-black.
The woman's dark eyes were watching the newcomers relentlessly even as her lips were clamped around-
Well, Zantac wasn't sure just what it was. It looked something like a standing oil lamp made of beautiful blown red glass. There was indeed a tiny flame resting in some liquid dimly visible in the bottom chamber, but there seemed to be another chamber above it that also contained liquid. About halfway up the device was attached a hose of some time, which led to a glass pipette. It was this that the woman was pulling on as she appraised her newest customers.
The Madam smiled and lifted her mouth from the hose. Her bright red lips formed a circle from which a stream of smoke issued.
It's some kind of pipe, Zantac realized.
Unru, perhaps sensing his companion's confusion, leaned in close to him.
"That's a hookah, or argeela. At least that's what they're called back on Aarde. As to what she's smoking, that's anyone's guess. Back in Yatia, I knew wizards were brewed magical infusions in them. It was the equivalent of drinking a potion."
Zantac frowned. If she has some kind of detect going… I should have cast one myself before coming in. Damn. Nothing to do now but hope and keep going.
The Madam sat up straighter on her divan and replaced the hose on the argeela. "Welcome, gentleman," she said, her voice rough. "My first customers; eager to sample the delights of The Rose, are you? Such strong and handsome men! My servers will be honored indeed!" she laughed huskily.
Unru bowed low. "And you, my dear, are the loveliest liar it has ever been our good fortune to encounter! We are but two simple travelers seeking relaxation. Indeed, we have heard your services far outshine any of your competitors."
A glint of something hard flashed in the woman's dark eyes, although her smile remained. "You have chosen wisely, indeed." The glint vanished as the woman waved a languid hand towards the archway. "The arrows will direct you. Each server's price is listed on their door, and they are per candle, which the server will light upon finalizing the transaction."
Lord Andrew allowed one eyebrow to raise. "An unusual system, Madam."
The glint returned. "My servers know what is best for them."
"Then we shall go and enjoy the hospitality of your fine establishment, my dear lady," Unru concluded.
The woman nodded back, then reclined again on the divan and returned the hose to her mouth. Her eyes continued to follow the two as they made their way towards the archway.
"Do you think she might be a member of the Underground?" Zantac asked Unru out ofthe corner of his mouth.
"Nothing you've told me so far has convinced me there even is an Underground," the illusionist replied in kind. "But if there is, and she is, she's hiding it extremely well."
They parted the red curtain and walked through.
The two wizards were standing at the head of a T-intersection. Corridors, all lit from torches on sconces, stretched away in front and to the left and right for at least a hundred feet in each direction. At about twenty feet from the pair in all directions, a series of doors were positioned about every twenty feet on both sides of the corridor. All the doors were ajar.
Lord Andrew turned to examine the wall next to him.
Sheets of parchment with elegantly designed arrows were attached to the dark wooden walls. The arrows facing left and right were both labeled Human Women. The arrow facing down the central corridor stated simply, Human Males & all Non-Humans.
Zantac turned to face Unru.
"I'm not sure why, but I feel vaguely insulted by these signs."
The illusionist smiled. "Just stay on the cheap side, my Lord. Thanks to your being such a clotheshorse, we don't have a lot of money between us left to spend on the really choice girls."
Andrew snorted and then jerked a thumb towards the right. "I'll take this side, you take the other?"
Unru nodded and began to head down the left corridor. He then stopped and turned around, his smile deepening. "If I'm not back in two hours-"
"- I'll know you fell asleep on top of her," Zantac quipped.
Unru chuckled, gave Zantac a wink and a cheery wave good-bye, and then headed down the hallway.
Lord Andrew headed down towards the right. He could feel that familiar tingling starting in his body that he always got when in a house of "ill repute." It had been over a month since Zantac had last been with a woman- Shyla- and he hadn't been to a brothel since last year.
That suddenly seemed like a lifetime ago.
He didn't know how some of the others managed. Elrohir and Argo were married of course, but he was fairly certain that Aslan and Tojo were both still virgins. Zantac shook his head in bewilderment. As far as he was concerned, no vow of any kind could possibly keep you from going crazy from that kind of denial. Why torture oneself like that?
Like Cygnus. Zantac's best friend refused to take any kind of solace in a woman's arms, out of a supposed respect for the memory of his late wife. That was insane in Andrew's opinion. Why go on living if you were never going to allow yourself to be happy again?
And he didn't even want to think about Nesco.
Zantac abruptly stopped.
We all should have come here, he thought to himself, before clearing his mind with a mental smile and moving forward to inspect one of the doors.
The sign on it read: Meela- 5 silver
Zantac looked inside and couldn't help but gasp.
On a very large, inviting bed sat a naked woman with her back to him. She was tall, lean and from what little Lord Andrew could make out, probably quite attractive. But her skin was brown- a deep, chocolate brown!
Olman! Zantac realized. She's from Hepmonaland, far to the south! But what would she be-
A shudder shot through his entire frame.
She's a slave.
Almost in a panic, Zantac looked up and down the corridor. There was no sign of Unru- the illusionist must have already made his selection.
How many of the girls here are slaves?
Andrew's wonderful tingling suddenly drained away as he suddenly thought of all those hundreds and hundreds of slaves he had seen ever since coming down to The Pomarj.
He wondered whether he had taken advantage of Shyla.
Zantac discarded those thoughts and images- or at least pushed them down out of his mind for the moment- and then relied that Meela had looked over her shoulder and was now staring at him.
She was exotic; no doubt. Not only her enticing skin coloring, but her dark, full lips, intense black eyes, and short but oddly curled black hair.
Her expression, though- Meela was looking at Lord Andrew like he was a bug she'd just unintentionally ground underfoot. Zantac saw her neck muscles twitch as she glared at him, and it occurred to him that this woman could probably snap his spine in half like a dried biscuit if she chose.
He gave her an embarrassed smile, a half-nod and turned away.
It was then that he noticed that the woman in the room opposite was already looking at him.
This one was a little older than Meela, perhaps thirty-two or so. She looked mostly Oeridian, perhaps with a little Suloise thrown in- very similar to Zantac himself. Her hair was a deep chestnut brown and was probably normally cut very attractively, but it currently looked as if she had been sleeping on it.
Her eyes were large and of an uncommon color- a light pink. There was a shy smile on her lips, but those eyes- Andrew couldn't read them at all.
The young woman was also sitting on the far side of her bed, partially turned away from Zantac, but not so much that he couldn't see some more of her. She wasn't naked as Meela had been, but the white silk gown she wore was more decorative than functional.
Lord Andrew's breath caught in his throat.
She was absolutely beautiful.
He knew she wasn't, really- not in the same impossible way that Unru's image had been; or how the doppelganger Marisee had appeared to him as. This woman's nose was larger than ideal, and he could see several small scars on her body that she had attempted to cover up with some kind of cream. Her smile was that close-lipped affair often seen in those with bad or yellowing teeth, and she had-
Zantac didn't care about any of that. This one might not be a slave. She might be a Suderham native.
Or maybe, the thought clawed its way back to Zantac's consciousness; you just don't want to think about that.
That was entirely possible, the wizard was forced to admit. But he was sure of one thing.
He was feeling far more nervous now than he had been expecting to feel. He knew he wasn't going to be able to face the corridor- and all those open doors- again.
The sign on her door read Beryl- 2 gold.Lord Andrew took a deep breath, stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
Beryl took a deep breath as well. It seemed to Zantac that she was donning a role she had played many times before. Still, it didn't look like she trying to conceal any hidden distaste. For a moment he would swear that she was actually pleased by his physical appearance-
- and then he realized that Lord Andrew looked nothing like Zantac.
The thought was like a blow to his stomach, and he actually winced from the pain of it.
"Good sir?"
Beryl's voice was not particularly smooth or silky, but it has an odd lilt to it that sounded like music to Zantac's ears. The woman's expression however, had turned solemn.
"Are you not… pleased with me?"
Zantac's eyes widened. "Wha- what? With you?" he stammered. "Not pleased with you? By Boccob, nothing of the sort!"
She eyed him curiously at that.
Watch your mouth, stupid! Zantac screamed to himself. How many noblemen swear by the Archmage of the Deities?
Drawing upon his prior experience in brothels, Lord Andrew sat down on the opposite side of Beryl's bed.
The rest of the room he took in with a quick glance. There was little here other than the bed, a small end table, a chest of drawers and a small archway at the far end. Coming from there was the floral scent that so many people used in an attempt to cover up the presence of a chamber pot. The problem was that potpourri was so commonplace Zantac instantly associated it with chamber pots anyway, so it really did nothing for him.
He smiled tenderly at Beryl. "You are an enchanting creature, my dear. I can only hope you find me half as acceptable as I find you."
That seemed to work. Beryl visibly relaxed, her lips slipping open. She actually had very nice white teeth, but she did have a pronounced overbite.
Even that was beautiful. The familiar tingling had returned to Zantac's body- and was rapidly progressing past that stage.
"I hope these candles last a long time," Andrew said softly.
Beryl smiled again, and then rolled over on her stomach across the bed to reach the end table. She pulled open its one drawer and withdrew a thick, red-and-white striped candle that she placed in the holder on the table. Then she drew a small wooden stick from the drawer that had a bulging, blackened tip. Zantac the alchemist would have recognized it immediately as a tindertwig.
He wasn't looking at it, though. Lord Andrew was gaping open-mouthed at this woman's exquisite body moving underneath her robe.
He did notice that her hand was shaking rather badly as she lit the tindertwig only after several failed attempts and then held it to the candle wick. She then blew the twig out and looked again at Zantac, sitting up and drawing closer to him.
Lord Andrew was about to lose himself in ecstasy when something spoke to him.
What are you doing? Isn't this what Aslan and Unru wound up having the Revealing Duel over? After all that, are YOU going to be the one to betray your friends? Aren't they still in potential peril every moment they're forced to sit around awaiting word from you? Do you call this gaining information? You are nothing but a selfish fraud if you go ahead with this, LORD Andrew!
Zantac hesitated, considering this thought, which he was now pretty sure was the voice of his conscience. This surprised the mage, because he had never really thought of himself as having one. It was not that Zantac considered himself an immoral person; it was just that he had never been the type to second-guess himself. In his view, it was better to plunge on ahead and fix any mistakes afterwards than to dither around beforehand and possibly miss out on an opportunity.
He found it odd that he had never had these thoughts until this year; after he had met Cygnus and his friends.
The wizard was still trying to piece this together when he noticed Beryl staring at him again. Her face was pained, and her lip was trembling.
Instantly, he realized. She thinks I was just placating her before! She thinks I really don't find her attractive!
And Lord Andrew made his decision.
"Come here, Beryl."
After several seconds of kissing, both of them seemed to explode at the same time.
It was hard to say which of them was more aroused, and that was certainly different from any of Zantac's past experiences. Usually, prostitutes were submissive, acting only on what their clients wanted.
Beryl however, clearly seemed to be her own woman.
And what a woman! Was Andrew's last coherent thought before he let his mouth and hands, and the sensations they were sending him, wipe away everything else.
They were lying side-by-side now, on the bed. Even as Zantac's hands were deftly removing Beryl's robes, her own hands were swiftly unbuttoning his coat.
Oh, yes!
While still kissing him, she yanked his trousers down to his knees.
Oh, yes!
Her hands now caressing Zantac's face, she reached up and swept the red headband off his forehead.
Oh, no.