1 Soul Bound
1.2 Taking Control
1.2.4 An Artful Carnivale
1.2.4.16 Denizen of the night
The ground floor was far more to her taste. Instead of stalls it was one large sweet shop, selling everything from heart-shaped iced shortbreads and orange custard darioles to clove-scented jambals and tiny cinnamon apple tartes. There were shelves of crisply fried concoctions of herbs and cheese, roasted nuts, ginger tostees, candied fruit and everything else that could be consumed with excessive amounts of sugar or honey. It was a dieter’s nightmare - Kafana loved it.
Kafana picked one of each type, hoping to analyse them later with her sight, and brought them over to the checkout by the door where a raven-haired Iberian beauty had her long straight locks held to either side of her head by roses over her ears, and matching lipstick. She was selling brightly coloured squares of floral cloth which customers used to package up their sweets.
Kafana: “Can I take these?”
Alderney, Bungo and Wellington were investigating one corner of the shop where a hot drink was being served, leaving her with Bulgaria and Tomsk.
Midnight Rose: “Certainly. You’re touring today? Welcome to our den. They call me the Midnight Rose.”
At Kafana’s nod, she picked out some plain grey squares and carefully started packing the purchases. Kafana stowed them in her stash.
Tomsk: “Is there a particular significance to the designs on the cloth?”
Midnight Rose: “Oh yes. It can be used to indicate the rank desired, and the type of interaction sought: a few days or a few hours, exclusive or non-exclusive, entertainment, conversation, or something more intimate. It’s all in the book.” she waved her hands to a stack of pamphlets on the counter. “Of course”, she added, “it doesn’t substitute for negotiation - it’s just a tradition used to make things easier, politer. The Scorpioni are all about building confidence, not destroying it. We’re very particular about manners.”
She swung a strand of hair away from her neck to reveal something like a tattoo. It was of a naked woman with a scorpion’s tail that just about managed to cover her breasts and groin from the gaze. The woman in the tattoo moved, giving Kafana a cheeky wink.
Kafana: “It’s magical!”
Midnight Rose: “Isn’t it just? And it fades away, after a while, unless the mage hired by the Scorpioni recharges it to indicate that the member is still in good standing. Legend has it that it can sting clients who try to steal from us or turn abusive, though I’ve never seen it personally. But who knows?” she giggled naughtily “For some reason, the people I was with always found better things to do with their time than try to test it.”
Kafana blushed and added the guide pamphlet to her purchases. It was entitled, “A Catalogue of the Principal and Most Honourable Courtesans of Torello”. She flicked through it, while waiting for the others to finish their drinks.
Kafana: {Dinah, can you summarise for me?}
Dinah: [These ladies ain’t shady. Gal, they are oooorganised; they’ve a formal guild which pays its dues just like the Smiths or Traders. High master courtesans are often an openly acknowledged part of a high noble’s household, able to attend social functions, and even bear children which get adopted into the main line. They have impeccable manners and taste, and are generally accomplished in their own right, whether as a dancer, poet or even a botanist. People shower them with expensive gifts just to spend time in their company talking with them; if they have sex, it is inevitably with an exclusive long-term patron.]
Dinah: [Master courtesans are the sort who make month-long contracts with visiting merchants and petty nobility. At a minimum, they are literate and keep boredom at bay via sexual and non-sexual means, like an enthusiastic girlfriend who dresses well and plays the harp. Someone you wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with in public. And so on, down the ranks, until you reach failed apprentices, who walk the docks plying their trade by the half-hour.]
Dinah: [The Scorpioni are a gang, which is distinct from the Courtesans Guild. They’ve laid a firm claim to this part of the Arsenal, and forbid their members from engaging in certain practices, such as blackmailing clients or stealing from them. In return, they’ve built up a reputation for hiring the most sadistic mercenaries they can find to take revenge on their behalf, if anyone causes problems for one of their members. Effectively, they are a female operated sex-workers collective, no pimps or pandering allowed.]
Across the room, Alderney screwed up her face after taking a sip of the drink.
Alderney: “Yuck.”
Bungo: “Yeah, it's not great, is it? I was told it was medicinal and helped men perform.”
Kafana: “What were you drinking?”
Alderney: “It claimed to be hot chocolate, but it was all gritty, and filled with spices.”
Wellington: “Perhaps it is an acquired taste. But Kafana, if you can do better, we could make a solid business out of selling it I think.”
Kafana thanked Midnight Rose, and the party carried on chatting as they walked. To her surprise, instead of dingy streets, they entered a wide courtyard laid out as a garden, with trees for shade and lanterns hanging from them, ready for the evening. Caged songbirds rested on balconies, where ladies were fanning themselves or chatting in groups.
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Kafana: “Conching and refining the chocolate is pretty involved, and there’s further work if you want to ferment and roast the beans yourself beforehand, or do couverture afterwards. We’re talking at least as much research and machine building as the gelato took, if not more; easier to do it with magic like Columbina does. Do we need additional money urgently?”
Alderney sounded disappointed. “I guess not.”
Wellington: “If there are adventurers watching this recording who have the arlife skills and want to make a business out of it, we could consult and act as angel investors.”
Kafana: {Do it through the Adventurers Guild or spawn a new company to back startups?}
Wellington: {Spawn a company, allow others to invest in it too, and act as consultants to the company advising which projects are feasible. The more locals who feel invested in adventurers doing well, the better.}
Bulgaria: {Set up an expectation that recipients of the funding will give back to the community, either benefitting the locals like at the orphanage or by investing in the fund themselves once they pay off the initial investment and are making a profit.}
Alderney: {Chocolate!}
Bungo: {Chocolate cookies, chocolate bars, chocolate sauce on ice cream, hot chocolate, devil’s food cake, pain au chocolat, …}
Kafana: {Tomsk?}
Tomsk: {Heh, sorry, I was enjoying the view. Sounds good in theory. I like Bulgaria’s suggestion that the emphasis not be purely upon making a profit. Money is a means to an end, not an end in itself.}
Kafana: {Ok, ok! Wellington, talk to Melchior about the ethics and how much to allocate to the project. I’ll go with whatever he says. Do a post in the Kitchen on The Burrow if you like - I’m sure chocolate isn’t the only joy we could bring to the locals.}
Alderney: {Talking of locals: Bungo, how’s the psychosocial model of Basso residents going?}
Bungo: {Pretty well. Turns out there are five or six distinct patterns - the different areas within Basso vary enormously. The bottleneck at the moment is finding out what magic can do for architecture. In arlife we can have entrance gates to apartment complexes controlled remotely, and wall indicators showing visitors how many residents are actively watching them. We’ve no idea what velife equivalents magic can provide, because nobody in Torello has ever ‘wasted’ that amount of effort upon housing in poor areas. What symbolism do people use here to indicate different levels of territorial control? What shared facilities or activities would help neighbours develop a strong sense of community? There’s no research - we’re winging it.}
Bulgaria: {If you want to know what works here in Torello to give the poor a strong sense of community and territoriality, we should plan a visit to the Ghetto, in the south-west corner of Basso. They’ve got it in trumps.}
Kafana watched as a pair of clients, both rather drunk, faced off against each other but then were neatly intercepted by a small group of patrolling Scorpioni who defused the situation and led them off in opposing directions, under the guise of steering them towards beauties who might suit their needs.
Kafana: “Does architecture have that big an impact upon sense of community? The layout here seems similar to the Doss, but look at the difference in atmosphere!”
Alderney: “In the Doss, most of the residents are transients. There are plenty of dark areas for people to loiter that have multiple escape routes. There’s no sense of ownership of the common areas, so nobody takes on the role of guarding them.”
Wellington: “So it is about information and surveillance?”
Alderney: “Yes. Whether a barrier blocks a line of sight can be at least as important as whether it blocks physical access. Just having expensive decorative lanterns hanging here undamaged sends the message: ‘someone lays claim to this space and keeps an eye upon it’.”
Tomsk: “They’re like a bear pissing in the woods, placing a urine scent mark as high up the tree as it can manage.”
A laugh sounded from above. The delicate brass poles surrounding the balcony did nothing to obscure the blue velvet chaise longue, nor the trim lady with an ornate feathered fan who wasn't so much reclining upon it, as posing upon it - using it to display her athletic body, fashionable dress and elegantly coiffed tresses. Her makeup was barely noticable, but drew subtle attention to her wicked teasing eyes. Her neckline was wide and low, but saved from crudity by the excess of lace upon the billowing sleeves which the lady used to ration out glimpses of her bosom to the admirer hovering nervously by her feet.
Amaryllis: “What a colourful comparison! Signor Mouse here is just about to read me his latest poetic epic. Will you not join us?”
The skinny man, wearing a grey wooden mouse-mask with cute ears and whiskers, had an all too familiar voice.
Moschus: “An epic indeed. All of history will remember your name, my love, when they read the dedication. It tells how the powerless Daphnis fell victim to the furious rage of the beautiful Lamia. Never have I composed better, for Lun herself sent down a muse to inspire me. Three days ago, I stood by their statues thinking when a voice came from above, where there is only unpopulated hillside, singing words of strange beauty. It was like I was dreaming with my eyes open. Straight away I set to writing, trying to capture the moment, and finished the whole thing just moments before having to flee a great storm. Since then I have scarcely slept or eaten while polishing my great work to set it before you like a jeweller’s gem.”
Bungo: “Really? Master Painter Poussin was telling me just the other day that Lamia was an ugly assassin, sent by the Lilies to steal some sheep or other.”
An amused Amaryllis chose that moment to read aloud the dedication: “To Mistress Amaryllis, you are as fair as Lamia, and your heart as pure.”
Moschus: “No, no! I swear to you he’s wrong.”
Bungo put some uncertainty into his voice. “Well, if you’re sure, I’ll look into it. Is it important?”
Moschus: “Vital! My wealth, my life, even my reputation - I stake them all for the honour of Amaryllis.”
[Quest gained: “For the Honour of Amaryllis” - provide Moschus with proof that Master Painter Poussin’s version of events is incorrect. Difficulty rank D.]
As they made their excuses and walked away, Bulgaria, whose acute hearing skill was already level 12, spoke up in group chat: {What was that all about, and why was that poet chap muttering under his breath: “Well that’s another fine mess you’ve gotten me into, Poussin”?}
Kafana and Bungo took turns relating the events of their previous afternoon, as the group passed through the Den, up an exit building and onto the next arch. They hardly exaggerated the tale at all.