“Seriously?” I ask.

Russ grins from ear to ear. “Just like our world, man. The holiest of them all like to get their horns wet too.” He pushes me through the engraved doors. Hymns of Order welcome us in as they echo off the cathedral's ceiling.

The extravagant paintings that decorate every wall almost disappear into the darkness above. The sheer excess screams of deep budgets and powerful builders. The human society’s worship of a single deity helps focus their energy too.

“Will the priest stop us?” I ask as we make our way down rows of pews.

“Just say you have to confess and they’ll point the way.”

“Using a place of worship as a front for a brothel seems a tad…”

“Brilliant?” Russ says.

“I was going to say disrespectful.” Not that it matters, since Order doesn’t even exist.

My partner in crime signals to the relics and statues around us. “This obviously came first. Then a devilishly sly person realised that these holy walls block abilities from tracking an individual, from being watched.

So the faithful can hide their unfaithfulness.

We careen towards the North Western corner, where the confessional booth is set up. Only a few worshippers mill about the sanctuary, praying and giving us foul side looks.

Since they only have processions once every third month of their calendar the place feels empty. To the followers of Order, they’re told that offering spirit during the victory prayer is the best display of their worship.

We enter a booth together, a man coughs in the adjoining one.

“Tell me your sins and repent before the mercy of Order.” He says.

“How much do your sins cost?” Russ taps a coin against the wood.

A hatch slides open. “Two shillings to enter the Sinner’s Alley.”

We pay the greedy priest who then activates a mechanism causing the back wall to fall out, revealing a stone staircase leading down.

As we descend Russ whispers. “Remember, no York stuff.”

We enter a warmly lit lobby with timber beams overhead. A hairless man in a silk skirt and fox mask greets us.

“My darlings, you look absolutely famished.” He claps his hands. “Leave your things here.”

He gestures to the hangers and chests that line the walls. Most are full of fine garments and weapons.

“I’m good,” I say.

He nods to the entrance, a doorless passage with runes chiselled into the frame. “You want in, you follow the rules.” He tosses me a skirt and the mask of a stag.

I lean close to my companion. “Russ, what do those markings do?”

He is already hoisting on his skirt. “They’ll weaken us considerably.”

Great, by the time I put one foot into this brothel I’ll have caught something.

“And you are going along with this? Let’s bail.” I whisper to him.

Russ turns from the warm torch light, his typical smirk is gone. “If this is what Harper wants, then we do it. I can’t fail.” He pulls on a mask of a feathered tiger creature.

I knew he had his own play going on, he wants this too badly to only be helping me out. I’m about to push the matter further when our attendant notices Russ’s necklace, a gold ring dangling upon a simple string. “Jewellery in the chest. I can assure you they will be safe. That includes your ring, sir.” He says the last part to me.

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Russ begrudgingly removes it and hands it to me to store away.

“No more dallying lads, the flesh is warm and waiting.” He coos before prancing through the doorway. A strange pop going off as he does. Russ follows suit, not looking back.

Rut this goat muk. No way I’m losing my abilities only to get shanked around the corner. Harper can shove this favour up her misty arse. I take a step towards the stairs when it occurs to me.

How can he see my York ring? It’s invisible.

I hold my hand out in the light. There it is, I’d forgotten about it in all this mayhem. My lover’s ring, a dense cloud writhing through it. Holy Mother, she’s here. Piia’s here.

I throw my clothes into my inventory, pull up the skirt and roll the ring into a fold at my waist. I consider keeping a glove on to mask my brand but decide it might only draw more attention. Luckily I’d hunted last night, my curse subsided completely with no growth showing.

The doorway pops, though I feel no difference. Only the excitement of finding her, rescuing my guide, my teacher, my friend.

“Got your priorities straight?” Russ slaps me on the back as we go deeper into the brothel.

“You know it.”

A room of cushions and half-naked customers spreads out before us. The drinks are flowing as merry laughter and grunting echo through the chamber. A masqued scene of sin that would make the Ancient Greeks jealous.

Our attendant hands us glass goblets full of sweet liquor, his fox's devilish smile leering as we descend deeper into his world. I clasp my hand around the drink, using it to hide my infamous scar.

“We take payment after so don’t fret now. I have everything and anything you can imagine. Just describe your dream and I’ll make it so.” He saddles up to me, unhappy with my tense body language. “Relax. I’ve found a thousand ways to pull that special lever.” He giggles and playfully slaps my ass, making me jump.

Ding

The ring flies loose from my skirt and rolls into an occupied sunken booth.

“We-”

“Satyrs.” I cut Russ off.

The attendant clears his throat and takes a long drag of his smoke.

“I know you have some, I can smell the bukke in the air.”

He flicks his ash aggressively. “Well of course we do, but-”

He disappears as a pale hand yanks him into the booth. The man cries out as he lands on a table, clearing it of drinks and narcotic leaves.

“So tell me you little delinquent, why would you lie to us about not having slaves?” Says the man cut from, literal, marble. He should be found in a museum with a plaque stating how he represents ‘the ideals of a cunt’.

He tosses his drink, then the cup at the attendant.

The attendant’s meek build is dwarfed by the group surrounding him. He professionally attempts to rectify the situation. “No lies my friends. Our Satyrs are highly sought after, as one would expect with such fine pedigree. I was about to explain to this customer that availability will be an issue.”

The statue pulls the man to his feet and patronisingly slaps him over the head.

“How about we start again? Bring us a jug of Mercillion wine and make them available.”

To my amazement, he stands his ground with an unflinching gaze. “Gentlemen. As my colleague previously mentioned, your credit has soured.”

Russ puts a hand on my shoulder as if I’m about to leap to this man’s aid. I brush it off and give him a look. I’m not a pimp's saviour. His soul has profited from abuse, he can take some of his own.

My companion shakes his head and nods to something I hadn’t noticed. One of the ‘lads’ turns his girthy back towards us displaying an upturned black tree.

Bloody Blackroots.

The hostile tension is further escalating as more employees of the establishment approach them.

Russ starts slowly stepping backwards. “Let's use this to get in the back.”

I pull his hand off me and start rummaging through the cushions.

“Seth.” He hisses at my strange behaviour.

“What in Order’s balls are you doing?” I look to see the serpent masked marble man and company staring at me.

I continue to reach under the pillow as he talks, internally signing with relief as I clutch the ring. Quickly pouncing to my feet, I emulate their level of prickishness. My weapon of choice, a pillow.

“Look at this thread count?” I show the closest Blackroot. “Is this made from flax?” I toss it away in mock disgust. “How cheap is this place? Is anything here of actual quality? No wonder you can’t even please these decent men.”

The attendant starts to shuffle around, his hands clenched as I add to the drama.

“Finally a fellow who will vouch for his worth in this city. Can you believe the audacity they have, claiming we won’t pay our dues?” The statue shouts, claiming the attention of other customers. I see one of his men pick up a pillow and begin slowly counting.

“Please my good sirs, a jug of Mercillion to amend my tardiness and I’ll see about those other arrangements.” He hastily waves to the bar running along one of the walls. His hands signal a quick message to a colleague stationed there, the man rushes through a set of doors hidden behind drapes.

“Now that is good service. Enjoy your evening.” I raise my glass to them.

The marble man toasts back. “Nonsense, you must stay. Like minded company should be celebrated.” As our drinks clink, his cold hand grabs my wrist.

“What foul grog have they served you?” He says with renewed anger.

He looks through the golden liquid and glass chalice, to see a morphed symbol burnt onto my palm.