The wide street Amaraine and Steve had hurriedly crossed at night was transformed into a busy marketplace. A portly man dressed in beige hawked dyed fabrics in yellow, orange, and green, his plain dress in contrast with the panoply of shades. Sellers of fruits and vegetables called out to townspeople with wicker baskets, proclaiming the freshness of their produce and insulting their competitors. A thin, dark skinned man sold brightly colored baubles and glittering chains of gold and silver behind two solid looking guards. The guards wore bronze plate mail, and gripped pole-axes in two hands, with daggers at their hips. Swinging a pole-axe on such a crowded street would be almost impossible, so Steve presumed they were for show. Adults and children pressed on every side.

“Easier for you to clear the way for me than me for you,” Amaraine said. “That way to Whore Street.”

Steve didn’t know what the social niceties were for “clearing the way.” They were going against the bulk of traffic, although people moved in all directions. He resolved to move, and keep moving, more concerned about poking someone with the sword on his belt than anything else. The people of Solanthe seemed shorter than most of the people at home whether due to genetics, poorer nutrition, or both, and their skin was a shade darker. Many people brushed against him.

“This would be a good place for pickpockets,” he said.

“It is,” Amaraine agreed. “Do you have anything of value?”

He had a wallet in his back pocket with nearly a hundred dollars in cash and two credit cards, and a cell phone that cost nearly a thousand dollars in his front pocket. “No, not really.” Most people seemed to carry their belongings in small purses, like little dice bags, either in their fists, attached to their belts, or in their cleavage. Cutting a purse from a belt was surely easier than fishing something out of the back pocket of his jeans, and probably a skill well practiced by a few.

The throng thinned as he got to where he had seen the late night revelers the night before. Most of the taverns were shut, apparently deciding that morning business wasn’t worth opening for, but several women leaned against the buildings, shoulders back, one knee bent, half-naked bosoms displayed to view.

“I think we’ve come to the right place.”

“So it would seem,” agreed Amaraine.

“Hey honey,” said a woman, dressed in a minimum of red silky fabric with lips painted to match, her eyes heavily lined with kohl. Her neckline dipped to her navel. Either bras hadn’t been invented yet or she felt wearing one got in the way of flashing the merchandise. “I could show you a fun time. Both of you a fun time, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“No money.” He lied and told the truth simultaneously. The woman shrugged, looked at Amaraine for a moment. They both became invisible as soon as Amaraine, too, shook her head.

“I shall pay you a weekly allowance, even if we are ‘associates,’” Amaraine remarked. “At least, until you are more independent. Then you’ll be able to afford some entertainment.”

“I’ve never paid for sex yet,” Steve said. Not in money, anyway. Occasionally in stress. He wasn’t cynical enough to think that everything was an exchange, nor naive enough to think that sex never was. “In any case now isn’t the time.”

“No, it’s not.”

They stood there for a moment. Steve felt increasingly awkward. It had seemed like a good plan. People passed through the area on the way to or from market, and a few talked to the girls working there. Occasionally a woman would escort one of the customers into the tavern, the door locking behind her. But no one just stood still, except for the women themselves and one dark mustached man who had taken up a position on the porch of one of the taverns. He had a sword strapped to his waist, a little shorter than Steve’s own. For a while, Steve was unsure whether he plied the same trade as the women, but he called out to no one, male or female, who walked by. As they continued to stand there in the street, he began to watch them more fixedly.

“We’re a bit out of place,” Steve said. “And I think their pimp doesn’t much like us.”

Amaraine’s eyebrows rose. “Is he a pimp, or simply someone hired by the girls for their protection?” she asked.

“Possible. Either way, I think we’re starting to make him nervous. I thought we might sit in one of the taverns, but none of the taverns are open.”

“Not at this hour, not on this street. Come. I have an idea of how to make us less conspicuous.” She took his hand, and pulled him toward an alley.

Steve let himself be pulled. Amaraine pushed him gently but insistently until his back was against a wall. She wrapped her arms around him, and stood on her toes so that her lips almost reached his, carefully not quite touching him with her hands. “You keep watch, then — but I don’t know how we’re going to tell the difference between them and ordinary customers,” she whispered.

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“I’d recognize two of them. The fat or the thin man.”

“But not the leader, in the cloak?”

“No. His face was too obscured.

“Well, then. Don’t get distracted.” Her lips brushed his, teasingly, and he questioned her sincerity. He couldn’t deny that she was enticing, even if the bones of her corset poked into him and negated any of the softness he might have hoped for. At the same time, a life might be at stake.

“No, seriously,” said Amaraine, as his breathing got shorter. “Don’t get distracted. I’ll provide the theater, you watch. It will make me seem an incompetent harlot, to not be able to hold my customer’s attention, but I’m okay with that.”

For a while, nothing happened. It might have been as little as ten minutes, but it was a long time to keep from being distracted by her lithe body pushing up against his. The way the real harlots primped and posed, displaying their charms, did little to distract him from erotic thoughts, and watching them was the point. He didn’t want to have a reaction that Amaraine might notice. She touched the back of his neck with her cold hands, and that helped a little, but over time they began to warm against his skin.

“You’re getting distracted after all,” said Amaraine. “You implied that harlotry is illegal in your world?”

“Yeah.” I’m supposed to carry on a conversation, too?

“You were dressed strangely — I suppose women also dress strangely.”

“Well, more covered up than those women, to be sure.”

“Like me, then?”

Steve risked a glance down. “No, a bit more than that.”

“Really? Oh, because it’s so cold.”

He looked up again and saw a thin man talking to the scarlet woman who had propositioned him before. He wore loose pants, and a white linen shirt, and Steve couldn’t see his features. “Stop,” he said, not wanting to be distracted more. Amaraine stilled against him, her body as tense as his. He willed himself to stay relaxed.

The two seemed to agree on terms. They didn’t go into one of the nearby buildings, as most of the women had done with their customers, but instead headed down a side street, but not before Steve caught a glimpse of a face with a broken nose.

“That’s him,” Steve said.

“You’re certain?”

“Unless he has a twin who also got his nose kicked in recently.”

“That seems improbable.”

Steve grabbed Amaraine’s hand and hurried after them.

“Hey you two,” said the man who Steve took to be a pimp.

Fuck, we don’t have time for this. They were almost out of sight. He kept going.

“I said, hey. Stop. I want to talk to you.”

It probably looked to the man like he was stalking the woman and her client, which was in a way exactly what he was doing. How could he explain that? Even on Earth, he’d have difficulty coming up with a good reason. He didn’t know how credible claiming that she was about to be sacrificed would be.

“You follow them,” Amaraine whispered. “I’ll buy you time.” She turned to face the man, and said allowed to him. “You don’t really want to talk to him. You want to talk to me.”

Maybe she knew some Jedi mind tricks. He’d have to leave it in her hands, and hope she could catch up soon. But by the time he’d followed the pair a few blocks the sorceress was no where to be seen. If she could enchant the ladies “protector” then maybe she could use divination to find him. He was wearing things she’d given him, maybe that helped. He let himself imagine that the sword was a kind of tracing device, but the fact was he had no idea how magic worked.

He pursued down the maze of streets, thankful his quarries were too intent on each other to notice that they were being followed. The thin man with the broken nose led the woman toward a building Steve recognized, where he had been summoned the night before. As they crossed the narrow street the alley extended from, Steve saw two armed men walking together. City guards on patrol, perhaps. Presumably they’d frown on drawing steel in the middle of the street, or even a nearby alley. He wanted to explain what was going on, but he didn’t dare. He didn’t know if they’d investigate or just watch him to make sure he didn’t do anything. So he leaned against a wall and watched as the guardsmen passed and the thin man and the scarlet woman went into the house. He looked around, hoping to spot a pale woman in a hooded cloak, but he was once again alone.