Speak Up and Maybe Someone Listens
Having had their fill of shopping, the crowds now went in search of somewhere to sleep.
"So that building right next door is a lodging, is it?"
"Oh? Shall we take a look?"
What did it take to make people stay somewhere for a long time? Every resort town shared the same answer — a good place to sleep was essential. And so bedrooms, furnished in Daehan's lavish style, had been waiting for them all along.
"The rates vary by room, I see."
"Goodness... The finest rooms cost an absolute fortune..."
The rooms came in three tiers: deluxe, superior, and standard. The standard rooms were hardly a burden at all, the superior ones pinched the purse a little, and the deluxe suites were the kind of place only a king might expect to lay his head.
"Heh heh. I'll take a superior room, then..."
"I'd best go with standard myself, heh heh..."
Each traveler picked a room according to his means.
"A word of guidance for all our guests. Our establishment does not practice prostitution, so please conduct yourselves accordingly."
"Hm? Well... all right, then."
Lest anything unsavory occur, a warning had been issued in advance.
"Anyone who causes a disturbance may be expelled by the security staff stationed on every floor."
"Well, I never..."
"Ahem, ahem..."
And with that, the guests made their way up to their rooms.
"Ohh..."
Pierre, a merchant from France, had stopped in at this place on an errand, carrying a noble's invitation in place of the man himself. Stepping into what was merely a standard room, he was thunderstruck.
"This is the bathroom?"
Not only did the bathroom handle one's bodily business, but there was even a small tub for washing oneself.
"What the— the water just comes out on its own!?"
What astonished him most was the plumbing. Word of it had already spread through the people waiting in Daehan's reception halls, but Europe's water supply was a misery — servants had to haul buckets of water up to a tank on the rooftop, all day, every day.
"And furthermore... it's warm..."
Pierre was a reasonably successful merchant who lived in comfort, yet never in his life had he encountered an environment this clean and fine. Brass faucets and coat hooks gleamed here and there; he half wished he could pry them off and carry them home.
"Heh heh. There's even an electric lamp in every room..."
And the room glowed bright though it was night. Electric lights — found nowhere in Europe outside the ballroom of the royal palace in Lisbon.
Click, click.
"Hah..."
Pierre flicked the switch on and off, on and off, again and again.
"How wonderful would life be, living in a place like this?"
Greed began to glimmer in his eyes — a hunger to earn more money, somehow, and buy all of these things for himself.
"Room service? I can order food and supplies from my room? Heh heh."
The notion of ordering meals and goods without leaving his room struck him as marvelous. Wasn't that something only nobles with personal servants could manage?
"As it happens, I'm hungry. I'd best order something."
He filled out an order form and slipped it into what looked like a postbox mounted beside the door. Actually installing telephones was out of the question — who knew what thug might smash or steal one — so he had no choice but to go analog.
"What a lovely sight this is..."
The hotel stood five stories in all: the ground floor held reception and lounge areas; the second and third floors were standard lodging; the fourth, superior rooms; and the fifth, the finest suites worthy of the name. Pierre had settled into the third floor and was gazing leisurely out the window. The department store district, its lights not yet extinguished, made for a fine view all on its own.
Knock knock knock.
"Room service."
"Ah, that must be her."
At the sound of the knock, he opened the door to receive her. The food was prepared in the restaurant on the ground floor and brought up — the staff couldn't ride the elevator, but the freight lift for carrying goods was in operation.
Clack clack.
"Enjoy your evening, sir."
The maid bowed courteously and turned to leave. She wore the uniform of a Daehan hotel maid — a black dress beneath a white apron.
Though there was nothing scandalously revealing about it, the snug fit showed off a figure that was, frankly, quite pleasing to the eye.
Grab.
"I'll tip you handsomely, so stay the night with me."
Pierre, who after his long travels hadn't held a woman in ages, seized her hand without a second thought, fully intending to spend the night with her. After all, it was common enough for commoner women to sell themselves in places like this.
"I'm sorry, sir."
She bowed politely again and tried to leave. She had been warned most sternly before her shift even began. And a hotel maid's wages were nothing to scoff at. She had no intention of spreading her legs for a paltry tip.
Besides, the face of the husband waiting for her at home rose in her mind.
"Disrespectful little thing, aren't you?"
Though merely a merchant, Pierre was a quasi-noble, and suddenly he found himself furious. A commoner — a commoner — dared to refuse him? Back in France, wasn't she just a peasant, someone he could take by force and kill without anyone raising a word of protest?
"You mustn't do this, sir!"
The maid flung the door open and tried to run. There was a guard in the corridor — she only had to reach him.
Thud! Crash!
But the short distance to the door had never felt so long. The moment she turned to flee, Pierre kicked her legs out from under her and shoved her sprawling into the corner of the room.
"Hm. I suppose I'll have to teach you some manners."
Slap, slap.
Pierre struck her across the cheek, again and again, until her face burned scarlet under his hand.
"Ack! Aaagh! Please, help me!"
"Heh heh heh."
Pierre seemed oddly worked up. There was a slightly sadistic streak in him — it was why neither his wife nor his children ever welcomed him home. And out in the world, now and then, he would explode like this.
"Kyaaaaah! Help!"
"Quiet!"
"Mmph!"
Riiip, riiip.
And as he seized her clothes and tore them, Pierre's eyes had gone bloodshot.
Boom, boom, boom.
"Sir."
He was just getting to the good part when the knocking came at his door.
"What now!?"
"Sir, would you please open the door a little?"
"No! Get lost!"
"The maid who entered has not come out."
"Nothing of the sort happened, so go away!"
The blood trickling from the corner of the beaten maid's mouth, the glimpses of flesh through her torn clothes — the sight seemed only to excite him further. Just when everything was going so pleasantly, he thought, and he had to be interrupted. Irritation prickled through him.
Weren't those guard fellows commoners too, in the end? He might be only a quasi-noble, but he was still a noble, and they dared lay hands on him?
For the moment, he had forgotten that this was Daehan's soil, and that beyond that door stood plenty of Daehan's people.
"Can't you just clear off?"
"If you will not open the door, we will open it by force. Please understand that whatever happens afterward is your own responsibility."
"What nonsense! How dare you enter!"
It would have been a little embarrassing, he felt, for anyone to see the maid pinned beneath him, whimpering. All this fuss because I handled one commoner woman — as if they'd disgrace a noble over it.
"Fine, fine. I'll open it."
BANG! Rrrrip—
But it was already too late. The guard kicked the door clean off its frame and came in, tearing it from the wall.
"Gulp."
Pierre had never in his life seen anything so terrifying. The man hadn't merely broken the door — he'd torn it open and carried it in with him. And the sheer bulk of him, filling the doorway completely.
Grind, grind.
"Ah. Too narrow. I'll have to tell them to make the doors bigger."
Two of them entered, and suddenly a room that hadn't felt small at all seemed utterly cramped.
"Hm?"
THUD! Crash!
The guard gave the room a single sweeping glance, then kicked Pierre across the floor. He went tumbling into the corner like a crumpled rag.
For the first time in his life, Pierre learned how fragile the human body truly was. He had clearly seen the kick coming and raised his arms to block it — yet the blow sent him flying, fluttering in the air as light as a sheet of paper.
"What is this!? How dare you treat a guest this way!"
Nobles of Europe did not die easily, nor were they injured lightly — not in war, not in duels, not ever. To kill one would set a precedent, and the killer himself might then be put to death. That was why Europe's wars always ended with so many prisoners taken: ransom money.
Tap, tap.
"Hm? Now what?"
And then Haneul appeared, having come down from his own room to see what all the commotion was. A fragrance like fresh-cut grass and wildflowers — the scent that was distinctly his — filled the room, soothing the heart of everyone it touched.
"Hhic..."
The maid, who had been lying in a daze, finally began to sob in earnest, clutching her torn clothes about herself.
"You bastards! Do you think you'll get away with treating a noble like this!?"
"Ahh~ so loud. Shut him up, would you?"
"Yes, miss."
"Wh... what are you doing! Stay back! I said stay back!"
Thump.
When Pierre, still carrying on noisily, keeled over unconscious, the room fell quiet once more.
"What happened here?"
"Well, you see...?"
Voices drifted in from the corridor. As soon as word of a disturbance spread, people had crowded in to watch. With entertainment this scarce, everyone was bored out of their minds, as always.
Let the crowd gawk as it pleased — inside the room, the interrogation had begun.
"Hmm? Your name?"
"Maria. My name is Maria!"
"I see. Your face is badly hurt. Did someone do that on purpose?"
From the circumstances it hardly seemed that way, but Haneul checked with the maid anyway — who knew, maybe that was her taste? Prostitution might be banned, but if the mood struck, romance wasn't exactly against the law.
"No! I said no! I tried to run, and he beat me and forced me to— hhic..."
"Mm. So it seems."
Haneul asked the maid with gentle eyes. It had only been a formality, a confirmation. Then his gaze sharpened, and he turned it on Pierre.
"Wake him up."
Griiiind.
The guard stepped forward and began pressing down on Pierre's collarbone, slow and merciless. A simple faint like this woke right up under a little pain.
"Gyaaaagh! What the—!"
"Keep quiet, or it'll hurt more."
"How dare you do this to a noble of France!"
Pierre babbled on, still failing utterly to read the room.
Thwack thwack, THWACK, thwack, thwack, CRACK, crunch.
"Kkh—khk... nngh... spare... spare me... please... stop..."
Nobody who'd been told to stop was about to stop. After a good long pummeling, Pierre hung in tatters. Beaten thoroughly into meekness, he knelt on the floor of the room.
"Nnnngh..."
"Does it hurt?"
"Yes..."
"Then if it hurts, why did you hit her?"
"No— but that woman is a commoner—"
His voice started to rise — apparently he hadn't been hit enough — and then he caught sight of the guard behind him, fists clenched. His voice shrank into the floor.
"Then what are you?"
"I am a noble..."
"There are no nobles in Daehan."
"I— what do you mean by that?"
"This is Daehan's land, not your country's. As far as I'm concerned, you're just another commoner."
It was an extraordinarily dangerous thing to say — the kind of statement that could shake the very foundations of Europe's aristocratic order.
"Gasp..."
"What did he say!?"
A stir of murmurs rippled through the crowd in the corridor.
"At the very least, on my land — on Daehan's land — you don't get to play noble."
"Kkh..."
"Let's start with a summary trial, then."
"A what?"
"A trial for the crimes you've committed."
"Crimes?"
Pierre did not believe he had committed any crime. He'd merely roughed up a commoner woman a little, that was all...
"Understand this: on this land, matters are settled under Daehan's law. First, you will compensate the maid for her injuries. How much money do you have on you?"
Haneul, inclined to let things pass smoothly, had intended to settle the matter with money and be done with it.
"And why should I have to?"
But Pierre dug in his heels, glaring.
"In Daehan, if you harm someone, you pay them accordingly and settle the matter. Refuse, and you serve a sentence of hard labor."
"Ha! You think you can do that to a noble of a foreign land?"
Pierre declared it outright, as if the very idea were absurd. Apparently he had failed to notice the fire kindling in Haneul's eyes.
"Mm. Daehan can, yes."
"What?"
"It's the prerogative of a great power. If you don't like it, declare war on us."
"Ha! Go to war over a thing like this?"
Haneul wasn't truly planning to go to war, of course — but it wasn't as though she couldn't. Pierre took it for a bluff.
And yet had she tilted her course even slightly off-center here, Europe would have been reduced to a literal sea of flames.
"I would, though."
Haneul looked down at Pierre, long and unblinking.
"...Gulp."
Pierre swallowed dryly. A merchant's trade brought him before all manner of people, and from a man's eyes you could read his disposition well enough to survive — that was how fortunes were made.
And the eyes glaring down at him now were those of a savage beast eyeing its prey. A fear crept over Pierre: she might actually mean it.
"One last question. Do you settle this with money? Or do you want to see it through to the end?"
"I'll... I'll settle it with money."
It stung his pride a little, but money could always be earned again. Handle this wrong, though, and there might be no war to worry about — just his head leaving his shoulders, here and now.
Pierre capitulated.
"Hm. Then let's tally it up. Compensation for the maid's injuries — and those clothes of hers were enormously expensive, mind you. Then there's the door you broke, and a fee for troubling all these fine people's peace of mind. That ought to cover it, don't you think?"
"I— the door was broken by your guard, though?"
"It was broken because of you."
"But—"
It wasn't exactly wrong, but it felt a touch unjust. Couldn't he have just turned the handle and walked in?
But then he looked at the fearsome figure standing behind her and lowered his head.
"Hhic... sob..."
And so, amid Pierre's weeping, the man was fleeced down to his last coin and thrown out of the hotel in the dead of night.
"Here — take the money, and rest for a while. Your body, yes, but your heart will ache too."
"Thank you so much!"
"Mm. Go on home and rest."
"Sniff..."
Maria offered her thanks — even a noble is just a commoner here, the words echoing in her mind — and returned home. She had a great deal to tell everyone.