Capítulo 10: Ⅹ. Prostitute
Inside Londen City.
Due to rampant prostitution and reckless gambling, Mika's money had dwindled to almost nothing.
In Londen City, there were two types of brothels: one was the middle to high-class establishments protected by nobles, complete with song and dance performances and fine food and drink facilities. The other, which mirrored the current depression of Beima Duchy, was nothing more than cellars set up by ruffians—best left unmentioned.
Mika couldn't afford the first type, but he also looked down on the latter.
He was experienced and knew that in times like these, there were many whores desperate for work; seeing someone on the street selling flowers for the high price of thirty copper coins, it was almost certain they were orchestrated by a pimp.
"Are we there yet?"
An old crone was leading Mika through the dilapidated region on the outskirts of Londen City, winding left and right through crowded buildings. Mika was growing impatient as a light rain began to fall from the sky.
"We're close."
Finally, the old woman led Mika down a dim alleyway, through a passage, and up a rickety, narrow, squeaky staircase into a second-floor apartment.
The old crone knocked a unique pattern on the door. Footsteps sounded from inside, and the door cracked open, restrained by a rusty chain, revealing an old woman and a man.
Without a word, the woman from within unfastened the chain and opened the door.
Mika looked the woman up and down—she was around thirty, her features fairly fine, and although a bit thin, she was acceptable. Her hair was the shade of brown he liked, and she was only wearing a nightgown.
After paying the old woman five copper coins, Mika entered the room.
Unexpectedly, there was another man sitting on the floor smoking. At first, Mika thought it was a setup—he reached for the short-handled axe at his waist, ready to strike, but upon closer inspection, he noticed that the man's sleeve was empty, missing an arm.
Noticing someone enter, the man hesitated only for an instant before tactfully picking up his crutch and awkwardly hobbling out of the room, closing the door behind him.
The place was just a small room with no bathroom or kitchen, about ten square meters with a bed, the walls so thin one could easily guess it was a large room subdivided with plywood into rental cubicles.
Only Mika and the woman remained inside the dimly lit room, barely illuminated by an oil lamp.
Mika sat down on the bed, removing his wide-brimmed hat. He sported a few millimeters of stubble, his curly hair beginning to streak with grey. His nose was prominent, his eye sockets deep, and his grey-blue eyes shifted across the woman's body.
"I'll go get you a glass of water."
"No need," Mika said, not out of discrimination but rather wariness—if the last customer was like that, it was best to be cautious, "Who was that man?"
"That was my husband, sorry to embarrass you."
Mika fell silent for a moment.
"You are rather good-looking; this can't be true."
Mika knew all too well that in this business, whether it mattered or not, there was rarely truth spoken—missing an arm, that man was effectively disabled here and, without care, would be dead in the streets before long.
"Is that so? You might not believe it, but once we had our glory days—he was a navy sailor. Then a pirate took his arm, and now he can barely walk. I'm the one who takes care of him now."
The woman spoke as if it were nothing out of the ordinary, casually undressing while she talked. Under the flickering oil lamp, there was a hint of allure.
Mika fell silent again.
"Suddenly, I remember having urgent matters to attend to."
Mika put on his hat and left thirty copper coins on the bed as payment. The woman hadn't a chance to speak before he pushed through the door and left.
The disabled man sat smoking in the hallway on the stairs, his one-armed silhouette in the dim passageway as eerie as a ghost. He seemed surprised to see Mika leaving so quickly.
Mika didn't dare meet his gaze and hurried away from the building as if fleeing.
Over an hour later.
Mika returned to the ship and saw the deck deserted. Seeing light through the windows of the navigation room at the bow, he knew there was a meeting.
He scanned the room with a glance; most had arrived, yet no one noticed him.
Because Rein was there, boasting about the day's events, with a storytelling flair so captivating it was a waste he wasn't a bard—everyone was listening intently.
"I damn near died, I swear,
The swordsman had some skills—a sword coming from the west, like the Heavenly Flying Immortal, swift as lightning, wild as the windswept sands. With just a flash of cold light, the attack was all-consuming.
My spirit shook, and at that moment, I activated the 'He Transmutes Freedom Method.' Transcendent and timeless, I displayed my might; this invincible method is the pinnacle of Immortal arts, boastful and supreme in this world. With me, Rein, the heavens are within reach."
Rein was holding a roll-your-own cigarette, animated as he spoke, though his hair was greasy and unkempt, carrying a certain odor.
Yet everyone on the ship was well aware that the 'He Transmutes Freedom Method' was just Li Si boasting of the 'Emperor's Skill' he allegedly practiced—sounding impressive in name but never once seen in a real fight, still having to rely on his swinging great hammer and the sinister tool residing in his left hand.
"Can you ever be serious?"
Shadi was too weak to complain.
Mika noticed that a few people were still missing: the Captain, the First Officer, and the newly arrived Tiger-man weren't there, probably discussing matters elsewhere.
Rein was still bragging on.
"Anyway, that guy knew he was screwed, quickly called out to his comrades, but what showed up was Ox holding two pieces of a corpse. If his comrades were to come back from the dead, they would probably write the word 'miserable' on his leg. Right then, he lost all hope, and while he was dazed, I cleanly snapped off his arm with a crack, totally crippling him.
Ox was about to question him about some things, but this bastard... still had some damn pride, refusing to submit to the very end.
So, there he was, heart cold and spirit soaring, life and death both uncertain."
Rein smacked his lips while smoking and didn't forget to add a casual interjection: "Damn."
Low-level Demon Haywood, serving as the crew's exemplary tool, had already packed up all the loot, only distribution was left.
The rules on the ship were simple: if the total earnings were under three hundred Golden Dragons, half would go to the common fund, the rest divided evenly. If earnings exceeded three hundred Golden Dragons, two hundred would be for the common fund, with the remainder shared. The common fund covered everything from provisions and sailor wages to ship maintenance, keeping a pirate ship in normal operation. Any additional purchases or extra crew recruitment—and indeed any extra expenses—if these required more than what was in the common fund, had to be approved by crew voting, where Liszt's vote counted as two and everyone else's counted as one.
The ledger was with Fen, available for verification at any time.
At that moment, Morison glanced at the doorway. Mika was hesitantly standing there, not coming in, seemingly caught up in something.
"The highly esteemed and self-disciplined ship's doctor has returned."
Morison always sharpened his Flying Knife on a whetstone, his speech ever sardonic.
Mika let out an awkward chuckle and found a seat.
The table was laden with hearty dishes; the ship's cook, Archer, knowing there was a feast that night, slaughtered a sheep from the ship's hold and prepared a whole sheep feast ahead of time, along with dried meat and some dips. Not a single vegetable was in sight. Moreover, the ship was never short on alcohol, as Archer regularly drank himself into a stupor without depleting the stock.
Such a spread was luxurious enough that lower-tier nobles might not enjoy such a feast even once a month.
Archer was always out of it, summed up in four words: cooking, killing, drinking, sleeping—nothing more, nothing less. Now, he was nearly at the sleeping phase.
Mika, skilled in reading the room, noticed some off expressions despite the festive occasion to divide the booty. Ox, Rein, Shadi, and Wolman—all had a stern look in their eyes, clearly concealing something.
"How's it going?"
Wolman asked Mika with a meaningful look, closing the "Acania Travelogue" in his hands.
"What do you mean 'how's it going'?"
Mika was clueless.
"Talking about the whore, of course. Was she any good?"
Wolman teased.
"What good would that be, same old story."
Mika laughed it off.
Ox's tone suddenly turned solemn, his Special Large Sword standing to one side, and he bluntly said to Mika, "I don't know what's gonna happen later, but you ought to know where you should stand."
Ox thought it was time to lay Swan's issue on the table. If not taking the Oath of Loyalty, at least giving Fen a couple of months' grace. Now with a big job done, there had to be some clarity. Since Liszt, Fen, and Swan were not present, they were probably discussing what would happen later.
The atmosphere in the room grew more somber.
Except for the heavily drunken Archer and Morison.
Mika suddenly felt like he was sitting on pins and needles. Ox was one of the few reliable people on the ship, a man of his word, never one for stale jokes, and he had never been seen joking around.
"What's the big deal?"
Mika had been on the ship for quite some time and had only seen this kind of atmosphere three or four times.
"One could possibly die."
Ox's tone was grave beyond doubt.
And in this room, the one whose word carried weight was only Morison.
"Don't be so tense. Liszt has his head on straight, popping champagne is more likely."
Morison glanced at Ox. That's why decent folks shouldn't be pirates, he thought, always paranoid, living on the edge of the knife, just too exhausting.
"Let's hope so."
Wolman remained noncommittal.
At that moment,
Liszt entered, his expression unusually serious.
Presentes
-- Presente
recebido Status de energia semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Pedra de
Poder