Nighttime in the brothel was cloaked in the mingled scents of beeswax candles, foreign incense, and cheap liquor. Gentle strains from a zither and flute drifted from one corner, clashing with the laughter and banter of patrons.
Dim lanterns hung from the rough wooden walls, casting flickers of light on crude murals. Some depicted nude women, others seaside landscapes. Old red silk curtains partitioned small, semi-private alcoves, allowing guests a semblance of privacy.
Charles was seated at a long wooden table, sipping a cheap, bitter-tasting spirit from a dented tin cup, its battered surface a testament to years of use.
A woman in a scarlet hoop skirt approached him. The thin gauze overlay revealed her figure beneath. Her brown hair was loosely pinned up, a few stray locks framing her face. A perfume of flowers and herbs announced her presence.
"You seem lonely," she said, her voice a honeyed whisper as she settled in beside him. "Care for some company?"
Charles turned to regard her. He noted the white powder on her cheeks and the red stain on her lips. The fragrance of roses and medicinal herbs intensified as she leaned closer.
"You look like a man of fine tastes," she said sweetly, resting a delicate hand on his arm. "Your clothes... so refined. You have the bearing of someone important. Why drink alone?"
"Perhaps I'm waiting for someone," Charles replied, half-laughing under his breath.
"Oh?" Her eyes lit up. She leaned in more, the scent growing stronger, her hand drifting lower on his sleeve. "If the person you're waiting for hasn't arrived yet... I could keep you company in the meantime." Her fingers traced idle circles on his arm. "Or if you'd prefer somewhere quieter, the noise is a bit much down here…"
She pressed close, her chest brushing his arm, a tingling sensation skittering across his skin.
Charles took a measured sip of the cheap liquor and murmured softly, "A lovely lady, silver moonlight in the sky."
Her expression changed momentarily, the smile fading before returning with a quick flash in her eyes. "But I favor the stars instead."
She got to her feet. "Follow me... the back is quieter."
She led him past clusters of wooden tables and tattered red silk curtains, heading to a door at the rear of the establishment. Gradually, the music and noise receded behind them.
They emerged into a narrow alley behind the brothel, flanked by old warehouses. Pale moonlight filtered through the gaps between rooftops. The stale odor from garbage bins wafted up from dark corners.
Charles cast a quick glance behind, scanning the alley's shadows. Under a faint lantern glow, a man in a long cloak leaned against a wall, possibly another patron leaving the brothel. Charles couldn't be sure if it was Joseph. He had no time to observe further; the woman in scarlet had hurried on, beckoning him through a narrow side lane between warehouses.
As they ventured deeper, the babble of the brothel nearly vanished. Charles noticed the woman seemed unfamiliar with the route, hesitating at each intersection as if recalling directions.
"This way…" she muttered to herself, then turned right into an even narrower passage. "Yes, this is it."
He followed silently, noting her anxiety. In the brothel she had appeared self-assured; out here, she was plainly uneasy. 'Likely just a guide operating under someone else's orders,' he thought, 'a novice in such affairs.'
They reached a small, open space behind a warehouse. A large, rusted iron door stood at one side.
"We're here," she said, sounding relieved to have finished her task. "I'll... be going now…"
Before she could slip away, the shuffle of multiple footsteps echoed behind them. Her face turned pale as three burly men emerged from the darkness.
"Stay put," one snapped curtly, halting her in her tracks. Terror was plain on her face; she remained rooted to the spot.
Charles sized up the trio. The first was tall and broad, sporting a deep scar running from ear to jaw, clad in a black leather vest with a torn sleeve. The second was lean, eyes glinting like a predator's. A short blade gleamed in his hand. Charles recognized him: the same man who had tailed Joseph in the black market previously. The last man was thickly built and seemed to lead the group.
"Don't be afraid," the stocky one crooned to the woman, his voice dangerously mild. "Just stay and watch, so nobody says we went too far."
She backed toward the wall, trembling, her lips quivering. Clearly she had never experienced anything like this.
"You've got questions about the black market?" The leader turned to Charles. "Well, we have questions, too. Like why you're so interested."
"If you only wanted to buy something," the lean-eyed man added, twirling his knife, "you'd know how to ask the right people. You wouldn't be snooping around."
"Unless you're with the authorities," the scarred one growled. "If that's the case… guess we'll have to be a bit rough tonight."
"Nothing like that." Charles's voice was calm. "I'm just after something valuable. Something that got away from me."
The trio paused, eyeing each other.
"Valuable, you say?" The burly one repeated. "Such as…?"
A crooked smile tugged at Charles's lips. "You don't think I'd be fool enough to discuss details in an alley, do you?"
"Got it," the big man said, a sly grin curling his mouth. "Then let's talk somewhere more appropriate. We've got a private space. But…" He paused. "Apologies in advance. Our business is delicate. We have to be cautious."
The knife-wielding man darted behind Charles swiftly, a black cloth sack in hand. Charles sensed the movement but feigned ignorance. Relief flickered inside him that things were playing out even better than planned—he'd anticipated having to provoke a beating for them to capture him. Instead, they were willingly taking him to their boss without violence.
'This is working out perfectly,' he thought.
"I understand." Charles shrugged, feigning an air of nonchalance. "But what about her?" he asked, nodding at the trembling woman.
"Oh… she can go." The big man waved her away. "Just don't tell anyone what you saw."
She fled at once, not daring to look back.
As Charles's eyes followed her, the sack came down over his head. Rough hands clamped his shoulders.
"Sorry, friend," came the ringleader's voice, "but we'll take you in like this. For everyone's safety."
They marched Charles forward, presumably through the iron door and into the warehouse. But they didn't head toward any bustling black market. Instead, they veered away. He heard their footsteps reverberating on old wooden floors, then changing to a muffled sound on what felt like carpeting.
"Watch the steps," someone warned as they descended a cramped staircase.
The air grew cold and damp, the music and rowdy noise from the brothel fading away. Charles sensed they were passing through some underground tunnel. After a stretch, a door opened with a faint creak. Cool night air gusted in as they ascended more steps. He heard a coach's wheels nearby.
"Get in," a curt voice ordered, pushing him forward.
A horse-drawn carriage lurched into motion. Charles tried to count turns or gauge direction, but they circled so many times he lost his bearings. It was a standard tactic to confuse captives.
Roughly half an hour later, the carriage halted. Charles was ushered out, shuffled into some building. His footsteps echoed against stone, the musty scent of a basement or cellar enveloping him. Shoved along a corridor, he heard a door open, and was guided inside.
"Sit," came a command as they pressed him onto a wooden chair.
The black cloth was yanked away, bright lamplight making him squint. When his vision adjusted, Charles found himself in a basement room far fancier than he'd expected. Wooden paneling lined the walls, and expensive paintings and bookshelves adorned the space. Opposite him was a polished mahogany desk and a large leather chair—empty for now.
"Search him first," the big man said, and the lean-eyed one began rummaging through Charles's pockets.
He methodically withdrew items: a pocket watch from Charles's coat, then a handkerchief, and finally a small vial of thick golden-red liquid that shimmered even under the dim light.
The burly leader took it all, slipping the watch into his own coat pocket, handing everything else to his skinny accomplice to keep. Charles memorized the big man's face—he was the one holding the watch.
"'The Master' will be here soon," the ringleader informed Charles. "I hope you have a good explanation for snooping around our black market."
Charles scanned the room. Besides the books and paintings, he noticed a glass display case holding artifacts—antique ceramics, a small golden idol, and various gemstones meticulously arranged.
The three men remained on alert, each taking up a strategic position. One blocked the door while the other two flanked Charles, poised to restrain him if he tried anything.
Footsteps approached from the hall, followed by the door swinging open. A portly man in fine attire stepped in—his silver hair was neatly combed, a pair of gold-framed spectacles perched on his long nose. Though he appeared to be around fifty, he moved with surprising vigor.
"Pardon the wait," the newcomer said politely, seating himself in the large leather chair across from Charles. "I handle our business around here. You can call me 'the Master.'"
From his coat pocket, he produced a brass snuffbox, opening it with delicate care. "Would you like some? This is a fine blend from far away."
"No, thank you," Charles replied evenly.
"Let's get to it, then," the man said, inhaling a pinch of snuff and closing his eyes in satisfaction before slipping the box away. "My men tell me you've been poking around about our black market—asking questions that made people uneasy."
He opened his eyes, regarding Charles intently. "So I want to know: who are you, and what do you really want?"
"But first," he continued, eyeing his underling, "show me what you took off him."
The big man retrieved the pocket watch from his coat, placing it on the desk. Lamplight glinted on its polished surface. "A high-grade piece, foreign manufacture… the type only a wealthy man could afford."
Next, the skinny subordinate laid out the handkerchief and the vial.
"That golden liquid is beautiful," The Master observed, lifting the handkerchief with interest. "The fabric's finely woven, excellent quality."
He set them down and picked up the watch, motioning for his men to keep the rest. Turning the watch slowly in his hand, he murmured, "Curious… ordinary folks wouldn't have something so valuable. So what's a man who can afford an item like this doing snooping around our black market?"
A chill tension fell. The three guards edged closer, ready to pounce if Charles moved wrong.
"Still," the Master said, leaning back in his chair, "there's no need to rush. We have the whole night…"
Outside the room, the distant toll of the city's clock tower struck midnight, echoing through the dark. The night was only beginning, with many secrets yet to be unveiled.