The Price of Betrayal
Nirgi, who had been fussing about getting more money, shrank back like a man whose tongue had been cut out. A stranger stepped in to explain instead.
“Your brother sold you.”
The man’s mocking gaze seemed to ask if she really hadn’t guessed. Tichite Ranlam finally noticed the whip tucked into the stranger’s thick waist. The heavy leather strands split into several tails, bound like a brush. It was meant not for animals, but for punishing people. If the man who claimed he would take a woman and tame her carried such a thing, he had to be a brothel keeper. Saltcoast slave traders carried those whips like badges of office, even if they rarely used them.
Tichite’s mind went white, then flooded with raw fury.
You’re really going to sell me to a whorehouse? For a measly twenty henny? Good gods. So that’s what you meant when you said if I was going to spread my legs, I might as well get paid for it?
“That’s not what I—”
“Not what? Then what was it?”
Nirgi bit his lip, looking uneasy. He seemed to feel a flicker of guilt, yet he could never set aside the irresponsible nature of a man who had never once cleaned up his own messes.
“Your brother’s been telling everyone you’ve got the makings of a fine whore.”
“I—I never said it like that.”
Nirgi mumbled excuses while glancing at the pimp, careful not to offend him. The sight was pitifully wretched.
“You’re a woman. There’s an easy way to make money without breaking your back like men do. I thought it was stupid to keep struggling. If it were me, I would’ve done this ages ago. For the family—”
“Family? You’re no family of mine!”
How dare he speak of such a warm bond after what he had done? Rage kept surging through her.
“You’ve always fooled around with men whenever you felt like it! So it can’t be that hard, right?”
The man wanted to justify himself, claiming he had only opened a path for her. He needed the lump sum now and had struck the deal with the pimp, but he seemed to truly believe his own words.
There was no reasoning with a man who placed romance and prostitution on the same level.
“If it looks that easy, why don’t you go out on the ocean yourself and suck sailors’ cocks? You’ve got a mouth too.”
As the argument dragged on, the bald man frowned, clearly tired of listening. He moved to end the conversation.
“Your brother already took the twenty henny in advance. Once you’ve worked hard enough to pay it all back, you’ll split what you earn with me at a set rate.”
The man pulled a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. It was written in Bigland script Tichite couldn’t read; he waved it so she couldn’t even try. The only thing she recognized was Nirgi’s signature at the bottom.
She had no intention of agreeing to the deal, nor of doing the work, and she was certain the “set rate” would be extortionate.
“This contract is void!”
She lunged to tear the paper. The pimp stepped back with one leg and grabbed her by the hair. Something he himself lacked.
“You black-bean bitch, still don’t know what’s going on?”
He barked at her and struck her cheek with his other hand. The slap landed hard across her entire right cheek. Tears sprang to her eyes. It felt as if her cheekbone and jaw had caught fire.
The force was nothing like the blows she took from Nirgi. The pain was unbearable.
In an instant, all her fighting spirit drained away. Once she quieted from the shock, the pimp looked down at her and clicked his tongue.
“Be grateful it wasn’t a fist. If you want to be treated like a newcomer, keep your head down.”
He yanked her wrist and hauled her to her feet. The gesture seemed to say she should be thankful he had grabbed her wrist instead of her hair, yet even that hurt more than she could ignore.
Tichite walked through the winding alleys like a beast being led to slaughter. People watched the atrocity in silence. Those who recognized her whispered that her brother had finally caused real trouble, but none of them seemed inclined to stop her misfortune. Only pitying murmurs, scattered like grains of sand, followed her.
It was a society where human trafficking was rampant. The neighbors’ indifference was heartbreaking, yet inevitable. In a world where parents sold their children and husbands sold their wives, an older brother selling his younger sister was nothing extraordinary.
Besides, the sight of a Tilamin being sold like a slave did not strike anyone as particularly tragic. Law enforcement was selective, and it almost never extended to foreign women like her.
All the dreams that had bloomed amid fear and hope shattered and scattered. She felt as though the future she had imagined had cast her out, declaring she had no right to happiness. The bright optimism she had once painted for herself slowly leaked from her chest.
Tichite only wanted to cry. Yet even in that state, she had to prepare to receive her first customer. The harbor needed whores every single day. No matter how many women were brought in to spread their legs for sailors, there were never enough.
Even in Saltcoast, where smugglers and swindlers roamed freely, this place reeked worse than most. Young women lived crammed into dark, filthy rooms that never saw sunlight. The room assigned to Tichite was a shared space for over a dozen women. The partitions did not reach the ceiling and felt more like a warehouse than a bedroom. She lay awake all night, chewing over her rage at Nirgi.
“Doria, the Mermaid’s Barrel. Second floor, biggest room. Two-bed room.”
“Two at once?”
“Yeah. Sophie, you’re going to the Pearl Shell Tavern today.”
“I already said I don’t want two at the same time!”
“Then tell them you’ll only take one each.”
The pimp held a scrap of paper in his large hand, scanning the names with irritation. He took orders from taverns and sent the women to the customers’ lodgings. When he gave instructions, the women obeyed without question. Most were in circumstances similar to Tichite’s, yet their lively faces made it impossible to tell whether they did the work willingly or were forced into it.
No matter how strong and vicious the pimp was, he only had one body. To manage the women efficiently, he relied on the help of other prostitutes. Older women whose customers had dwindled took on roles such as watching over the girls between the lodging and the taverns or helping new arrivals with their appearance.
When experienced women were given appropriate status and duties, order followed naturally. That was why the line between perpetrator and victim among the prostitutes remained blurred.
One woman was examining Tichite Ranlam’s appearance. She grabbed the scarf on Tichite’s head and asked,
“Should we take this off? What do you think?”
“Do whatever you want with that.”
The pimp answered irritably without looking up from his ledger. Then, as if changing his mind, he offered a casual suggestion.
“The customer specifically asked for a Tilamin woman. He’ll like it better if she’s dressed that way.”
Hearing that, Tichite felt an urge to rip the scarf off her head at once. But she knew any sudden act of defiance would only bring violence, so she forced herself to endure it.
She kept her mouth shut, not because she had any hidden plan, but because she had lost the will to resist. Her eyes were listless as she stared at the floor, yet inside she was thinking only of escape.
“Hey, Tichite. Come with me.”
When the time came, the man led her to the appointed place. He called her by name instead of “sister” to distinguish her from Nirgi, but being addressed so familiarly by a stranger left a bad taste in her mouth.
Though “night work” or “bedding” sounded like something that should happen secretly under cover of darkness, Bigland’s common sense was different. Sunset Religion believers were hypocrites who thought even adultery and prostitution could be forgiven with a prayer under moonlight, so they preferred to conduct their dirty business while the sun was still up. That was why the brothels bustled even in broad daylight.