The Anchor and the Black Horse
Tichite was dragged down the back alleys of the red-light district with her wrist gripped in the same iron hold as when she had first been brought here. Unlike the other women, she was not given the chance to walk on her own two feet. The man was clearly keeping her escape in mind.
A woman who had not yet been broken in required constant supervision from the start to the end of the prostitution process to prevent any troublesome variables. That was why the pimp himself was personally escorting her. Aside from the lack of a collar and shackles, she was no different from a prisoner.
Then what crime did I commit?
Tichite thought, struggling to calm the rage boiling inside her.
If being foolish and stupid is a crime, then I suppose it is. I should have cut ties with Nirgi long ago. What good was that blood relation anyway…
As she nursed her resentment toward him, they arrived at their destination before she knew it. She had been watching for any chance to run, but it had proven impossible.
Tichite saw the rusted anchor driven into the doorframe of the tavern. It announced where they were far more clearly than any signboard could.
The Anchor.
The man shoved Tichite forward, pushing her ahead of him. He made her enter first to cut off any route of retreat. Once inside the establishment, there were no other exits. She could try escaping through a window if she wanted, but the openings were barely wider than her waist and set high above even a tall man’s reach.
Inside the tavern, which knew nothing of ventilation, a foul stench hung thick in the air. The salty brine of seawater mixed with the reek of sweat and the sharp bite of cheap liquor, assaulting her nose. Normally the place would have been buzzing with flies, but given the season, it was packed with people just like any other tavern.
The official wedding ceremonies of the Ham couple from Saltcoast had finally concluded, and the festival was reaching its final stretch. The drinkers were draining their cups with a touch of regret.
Tichite scanned her surroundings with a faint flicker of hope, but as expected, every face was unfamiliar. The tavern was filled only with people who held no ties to Saltcoast. Perhaps that was exactly why they had chosen this place to receive customers.
She briefly imagined screaming at the top of her lungs, then gave up. A few heads might turn out of curiosity, but that would be all. She could already picture the men glancing over before turning away again, as if they wanted nothing to do with it.
People from Bigland rarely paid much attention to their Tilamin neighbors. Especially not if the voice in question belonged to a woman who could be trampled for a few coins.
So many people around, yet not a single soul she could ask for help. Tichite climbed the stairs with a heavy, desolate heart. The pimp shoved her into a sealed room.
“Your guest will be here soon. Wait here until then. I’ll be standing guard right outside the door, so don’t even think about running.”
Once the door closed, Tichite sank into bitter despair. She perched on the pitiful bed that barely had any cushioning and brooded.
Do I really have to be raped like this, with no way out?
She had not the slightest desire to share her body with a stranger. She could not allow her hard-won pride and dignity to be shattered in such a way.
Tichite even considered throwing herself at the man’s feet and begging. I don’t want this. Please, help me. But she soon collided with the grim realization that such pleas would be utterly futile.
How likely was it that a man who sought out prostitutes would hear a whore’s circumstances and take pity on her? The men who sold women’s thighs and the men who bought them were equally pathetic.
So Tichite waited in a state of grim resignation. She steeled herself with the resolve that, if it came to it, she would bite his balls off and run.
Before long, murmured voices drifted in from outside the door. One belonged to the bald pimp; the other was a voice she had never heard before. Its owner was undoubtedly the man who would temporarily take possession of her—regardless of her own wishes.
Tichite glared at the door with as much hostility as she felt toward Nirgi and the pimp. She hoped the man’s member would refuse to rise, that he would grow so disgusted he would leave. She could only pray he was not some pervert who grew more excited by resisting women.
The person who opened the door and stepped inside was a man of an identity she had never anticipated. She did not even register his appearance or expression. What seized Tichite’s gaze was the emblem emblazoned on his chest.
A warhorse rearing powerfully on its front legs atop a gray surcoat. That pitch-black beast looked like a savior come to carry her away.
My lord. Righteous and honorable knight of the Iron Horse Knights. Do you not recognize me? Do you not know who I am?
She frantically clutched at the knight’s trouser leg. She had no composure left to calm her mind.
The Iron Horse Knight took a startled step back. He had come to commit a shameful act, and there was no man alive who would not be thrown off balance by a woman suddenly recognizing him like this.
“My lord, I’m that Tilamin woman from before. The herbalist who was summoned by His Grace the Duke.”
Tichite begged him to remember her while desperately trying to recall the faces of the knights who had stood like folding screens behind Kanne. But sadly, none of the faces in her memory matched the man before her. It seemed this knight was not someone she knew.
The knight frowned at the woman spouting what sounded like insane ramblings, then grew visibly impatient.
His comrades were already packing their gear. They had a long journey ahead and would soon be sleeping on the road. With starvation looming, he only wanted to quickly satisfy his urges and be done.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Sorry, but I’m in a hurry. We don’t have much time.”
The man reached for her. Without hesitation, Tichite sank her teeth into his clumsy hand with all her strength. No matter how sturdy an Iron Horse Knight he was, his skin was not made of steel. When bitten hard enough to draw blood, even the bravest man would cry out in shock.
“Agh! What the hell are you doing?!”
Tichite shoved the bewildered man aside and bolted out the door. She hiked up her narrow, inconvenient skirt and felt a single silver coin in her pocket clench in her fist along with the fabric. Even through the cloth, the shape of it against her thigh felt unusually distinct.
This was The Anchor. The Iron Horse Knights were still here. If she wasn’t too late, she might still find Kanne. Then she could ask him for help, beg him to take her back to His Grace…
As she frantically raced down the stairs, she unfortunately ran straight into the bald man. His eyes widened when he saw her at the bottom of the steps, then his face twisted into a savage scowl as he roared like an enraged bear.
“You sneaky little black-bean bitch!”
Tichite spun sharply and vaulted over the stair railing. A young woman hitching up her skirt until her undergarments showed, fleeing in desperate haste, was certainly a rare sight. Some onlookers gasped in surprise; others smirked. In one way or another, every eye in the tavern turned toward her.
It was exactly as she had expected. No one took her desperate situation seriously. She could only be grateful that the men were not actively helping her pursuers catch her.
The moment she cleared the railing, she ran like a deer fleeing a hunter—only to collide with a server carrying a tray of drinks. The tray clattered to the floor in a chaotic crash, glasses shattering. Even so, the distance between her and the bald man was closing fast, and to make matters worse, the knight whose hand she had bitten was storming down the stairs after her, panting with rage.
Tichite scrambled up, her palms smeared with spilled liquor, thick black dust, and someone’s discarded phlegm. Her mind was so frantic that nothing registered. She never even noticed the man who had come up directly behind her.
“Langlang?”
A familiar voice pronounced her name in that slightly strange way. Tichite whipped her head toward its owner.
It was Kanne. Her savior, the one who would take her back to His Grace.
Meeting the very person she had been desperately searching for felt almost miraculous. Even though she could not be certain what he would do for her, the relief that washed over her was as if she had already been pulled from the swamp.
He looked down at her with a mixture of delight and utter bewilderment.
“You’re way too late. If you were planning to make our young masters worry so you could drive up your price, you cut it awfully close.”
Kanne spoke lightly, but the moment he saw Tichite’s deathly pale face, he realized this was no time for jokes.
“Looks like you need my help. Am I right?”
The man bent at the waist and offered his hand. Even as he watched the two hunters closing in on her, his smile never faltered.
At his offered hand, Tichite’s exhausted legs moved. Almost the instant he pulled her up, she collapsed into his arms. The moment her face buried against his broad chest, dizziness swept through both her body and mind.