Day 5, 6:35 PM

“But it was my integrity that was important. Is that so selfish? It sells for so little, but it's all we have left in this place. It is the very last inch of us...but within that inch we are free.”

— Valerie (Alan Moore)

“Stupid whore,” I’m still grumbling as I rush down the hall. I’ve been here for two to three hours, I think. Could’ve been more, could’ve been less. It’s hard to tell in a room with windows draped over with thick red curtains while drawing text glyph by glyph in the local take on mashed potatoes.

I walk down the stairs. I step on the mid-level landing, and just as I’m about to turn a corner, I hear a deep male voice.

“... he’s wearing a brand new green shirt, he has long, tangled hair. Don’t try to hide him, Old Jomes the cobbler told us he sent him your way several hours ago.”

Green shirt, long tangled hair, cobbler sent him… Shit! Who’s looking for me? My first thought is the DIA, then I realize I’m in the wrong world, but I probably got the right kind of people.

“He asked for Duchess in a roundabout way. He’s still in her room, and he’ll stay there ‘till morning,” the fat hag running the whorehouse sells me out without a moment’s hesitation.

My breathing quickens. I look around, and the narrow staircase with a high ground feels like a great place to fight against greater numbers. It’s also a great place to get stabbed in the back by a whore looking to make a more honest living.

No. I reject the idea of making a last stand, turn around, and quietly go back to where I came from. Their conversation grows unclear, but I can still hear the man and the retired old whore talking about something. I keep walking as I reach the first floor hallway, and duck into Duchess’s room.

She’s lying on the bed, crying.

“Do you want to escape this place, or do you want strangers to fuck you and feed you with their feet?” I ask, surprised by my own words.

What? My plan is to go on a run with a former duchess turned whore? But a rational part of me reminds me I don’t know the town, I don’t know the country, I don’t know how to read, and I don’t even fucking know how much things cost on the street.

“What?” she asks, her mouth ajar, half her makeup smeared from her tears.

“I’m a runaway slave,” Blunt rushes to my aid. “Escape with me, or get fucked until the day you die. Your choice.”

I open my sack and take out the clothes I wore when I first entered the town. I throw them at her and stride over to the curtain. I tug it to the side, revealing a curtain rod so well-polished it catches my attention before I focus on my escape option. The window is big enough for a grown man to jump out of, beyond is a tiled roof, leading to other roofs, rather than the street.

This is not bad. I would’ve preferred a back alley, but running on roofs also works.

My gaze lingers on the dark, cloudy sky. The sun will set in half an hour or so.

I turn around, and Duchess is staring at my looted clothes as if they were a cobra.

“Are you staying or going?”

She looks at me, countless emotions swirling in her eyes and shifting on her face while she struggles to reach a decision.

I don’t have time for this.

I turn around and open the window. The fresh air hits my face, but I don’t have the time to enjoy it. I stick my leg out and hear a rustle behind me. I look back, and she’s putting on my old tunic.

The sleeves don’t reach her wrists, a stupid thought, given the moment, and by the time I realize she’s coming with me, she’s already pulling her pants up.

“Go.” She ties the cord belt and follows behind me through the window. I almost slip on the slick tile, luckily, she doesn’t step into me. Instead, she’s arranging the curtain and pulling the window closed from the outside.

“Go left and then around the roof,” she says. “We must keep out of sight. Otherwise, they will spot us immediately and catch us before nightfall.”

She glances down as she passes me. “And take off the boots. Walking barefoot is preferable to inferior boots when treading on slippery surfaces.”

Confused, I sit down on the windowsill and take my brand new, obviously inferior, boots off and follow her. Her words prove true, the slope seems less slippery, and I find it easier to maintain balance.

“Do you have weapons? How much money? Your purse sounded full.”

“Yes. About six gold bars’ worth of gold. It is.” I answer her barrage as best as I can, and she nods.

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My pants are too short for her too.

“You killed your master and escaped? The guards are after you now? And you immediately went to a brothel instead of running?”

“I… kind of. Yes.” I’m not sure how to answer the last question. My dick was getting in the way of my thinking? I wanted to pay a random person to teach me how to read without asking questions about the insane content of the messages I need decrypted?

“Are you too embarrassed to answer the last question?” she asks. “Never mind. I can see you are a child. Which weapon did you take?”

“A dagger. I’m not embarrassed. Yes, I immediately went to the brothel. Otherwise, you would’ve still been there.”

She slows down and carefully steps onto the adjacent roof.

“Do not jump. The roofs are close enough, and you may fall into someone’s home and break a leg when you land. Regarding my escape, I will consider this encounter a blessing only if we escape alive.”

Noted, I nod about the jumping part, and the other one also makes sense.

We’re already halfway through the third roof when she speaks again.

“I need to make sure you understand something. I will surrender as soon as the guards or mercenaries are close to capturing us. Do not delude yourself that I will risk my life for you. I will not. I will guard your back against bandits, and other obvious threats to both our lives, but not against representatives of legal authorities. Should they catch us, I am useless as a hostage, but I will help you greatly in all other situations.”

She looks left and right, selecting the easier path forward, speaking all the while.

“I can read and write. I know a bit about fencing, but my knowledge is theoretical, and I am not an actual duelist. I have never killed. I do not shy from blood, and I know a little about dressing wounds. And I want you to understand one thing. I am not your whore. You cannot abuse me, or even touch me without my permission. We are comrades in escape. Now,” she makes a dramatic pause. “What can you do?”

I’m incompetent, is the general impression I have about my own ability to survive when faced with the senior survivalist I picked up in a random brothel. Then another thought pops up in my head. How many times has she tried to escape?

“I asked a question,” she says in an icy tone.

“I can fight off a pack of wolves with a dagger and kill nine sword-wielding mercenaries barehanded.” I will suffer for it. But I don’t add that. That one sentence was badass. “My guts are tough, and I recover from wounds quickly. And I can fuck for forty minutes straight.”

She stops, turns to face me, and I immediately regret my quip.

“If you make another joke like that, I will scream for help, shouting you abducted me,” she’s glaring thunder at me, growling like a slapped bear. “I have dignity. I will not be humiliated by a child slave who got lucky on his first escape attempt. If you treat me with respect, I will show you the same grace, and I will do my utmost best for both our sakes, otherwise you are just a dead man who raped me. Do you understand?”

She keeps glaring at me like a ferocious beast, and I nod.

“Yes.” I gulp. Her eyes are wet, and her makeup is in such a mess, it’s obvious she was sobbing before I dragged her out, yet now, she’s a dragon on whose tail I stepped.

I’m not simply cowed. Guilt punches me in the gut. Rage and humiliation are obvious in her eyes, but she turns around and keeps scuttling while sliding her feet just above the tiles in a motion I started mimicking as soon as I took my boots off.

“You are bringing brawn and money to the table, while I am offering my brains and experience,” she finally speaks five roofs later. “Do you find our partnership acceptable?”

I do. I’m a stranger in a strange world, while she’s an experienced local. “I do.”

“Good. I will have you buy clothing, tools, and food for us, some specifically for me. We will not steal unless absolutely necessary. Theft attracts attention. If you ever need to attack or rob someone, kill them swiftly and decisively. Do not leave wounded enemies.”

“But—” I try to protest about killing anyone we rob, but she doesn’t let me speak.

“Do not argue if you lack relevant experience.” She points westwards. “The sun has set, and it will be dark soon. The guards are closing the gates, and the wall patrols have started. Even though the gates are shut, tonight is our prime chance for escape. But do not worry if we miss it, it is not the only one. Each sufficiently large settlement has people willing to perform illegal services for a sufficiently large sum of gold, and what you have is more than sufficient. One bar should get us out of here.”

She stopped and looked at me.

“Show me the money.”

I give her the money pouch, and after checking it, she returns it to me.

“From now on, do not give strangers your purse full of gold just because they ask for it.”

I look at her. Blunt almost let slip that she’s no stranger because I fucked her not three hours ago, but I bite my tongue, feeling actual physical pain in my chest because I can’t say the words.

“Alright,” I say finally and bury the money sack back into the regular one, right under my inferior boots.

She’s really bossy. I think in the respite between her episodes of sharing survival wisdom. I can’t tell whether that behavior is good or bad, but she does seem honest. Are whores really the most honest girls, or whatever that painter said?

“We will now slip down to a back street. I will wash my face, do you have a scarf or something?” she asks, and I shake my head.

Princess’s torn-bodice-turned-shawl had gone to the wolves, and it’s probably not what she has in mind, anyway.

“You said you have a dagger? Give it to me.”

It’s already too dark to see properly, but I can fish out the sheathed dagger easily from the sack. I unsheathe it and hand it to her, hilt first.

She trims her hair without hesitation, then looks at me.

“I want you to know I mean you no harm. I would like to shorten your hair, but you do not trust me enough to turn your back to me when I am wielding a blade. That is basic survival, and I understand.”

Actually, I let Princess cut my hair, and she stabbed me in the back later, so you might argue I’m lacking basic survival instincts.

Naturally, I don’t say nonsense about dying already, and try to cut my hair, but it’s a massacre.

Finally, I look in the general direction of a Duchess-shaped shadow.

“Here. I was an ass earlier for what I said. I apologize. I appreciate what you are doing for me, and I have decided to trust you.” I extend the dagger towards her once more.

She doesn’t take it immediately. She’s probably staring at me like I’m an idiot.

“You really are a child,” she sighs and takes the dagger.