Luminous

100 - The Interrogation

The Pleasure Lane remained active during the day thanks to tourists. Women from the progressive eastern and southern duchies, where their chastity would rarely come under scrutiny, would traverse the country for a taste of the sinful entertainment that would have been restricted to men elsewhere. Westerners and northerners weaved their way around the darker folk, gawking in mingled awe and terror at the brothels but rarely venturing inside.

The steady-trickling river of passers-by squeezed into a bottleneck in front of the largest brothel. Curious onlookers—a mixture of tourists and locals who have flocked over as the news spread—formed a circle around the entrance. Hyacinth guards barked and waved for them to clear a path. Guards filed in and out of the brothel's open doors, some carrying unconscious Dolls on stretchers, some leading out frightened prostitutes and wriggling brothel staff on foot.

The subject of most gossip, however, were the dozen-or-so hulking men with olive skin and glowing green eyes, wearing an armor of silvery scales. They stood sentry along the cleared path which led back to the palace, luminous eyes following the Dolls as they sailed by. Occasionally, one would glare at a pair of guards who were careless while handling their patient, and they would walk more in sync, or adjust their grips on the stretcher.

Inside the brothel, Winterwen Jaise walked down the dim hallway, peering behind paper screens into the emptied rooms as she passed. Hyacinth guards rushed by her from all directions, ushering along protesting clients in various stages of undress, and trembling prostitutes. At the end of the hall, she entered the doorway under the sign Dollhouse.

To the left, a muscular man with straggly black hair, glowing green eyes and a pale scar on his neck was on his knees, moving a teenage boy onto a stretcher held by two Hyacinth guards. Most of the Dolls had been carried out—around half a dozen were left. A panel in the back wall was shunted aside, allowing the stench from the washroom to permeate the air.

Winterwen waited until the Hyacinth guards had left, before approaching the man.

"Dragon, we have not met. How shall I address you?"

Lord Coris had told her his name, of course, but Winterwen thought she ought to allow the dragon to choose a moniker he preferred. The dragon worked on the next Doll, a woman in her thirties, as he waited for more guards.

"Humans chose the name Gillian for me." He said, his fingers scouring the skin around the glass eyes of the unfortunate Greeneye. There was a basin and a pile of fresh towels nearby. Winterwen knelt down and dropped a towel into the water. It was warm and soothing.

"And Winterwen for me. I hold the seat of Jaise." She handed Gillian the towel with a smile and dipped her head, "Thank you for your aid. Freda knows how many Jaisians have wasted away in this terrible place."

She cast her eyes about the room. A grim, desolate air hung about it despite the pleasant orange light. Gillian pressed the warm cloth on the woman's eye. There was a faint, squelching pop. Gillian took the glass orb from beneath the cloth, then moved on to the remaining eye.

"You sent them here." He said coldly. Winterwen tensed, then bowed her head once more. Not all the Dolls were Greeneye convicts she had sentenced, of course, but her prisoner trade with Hyacinth had no doubt fed the brothel. Like flies to a spider, which then expanded its web and ensnared innocent travelers.

Instead of punishing rapists for their crimes, Jaise exacted revenge on them, made a trade of them. Shuttled these unwanted men across the desert, reaped profit from them, milked them to feed the very crime they were punished for. It was an abuse of justice. And perhaps, this was Freda's retribution.