“Cipher, how long until the Harrow Gates open again?” I ask.
“Three days, fifteen hours, twelve minutes, and twenty-one seconds,” he replies instantly, always ready.
Okay, yes. I can’t afford to be thrown in a cage for a few days. There’s no way to know which gate Dox will come through, or if she comes through at all. Cipher won’t be able to tell me who enters, only how many do, so I have to try my best to be at one and convince him to use power he’s barely has to bring her to that gate. We have just over three days before we need to be there waiting.
The buildings we pass here are less shiny than those of the Gilded District. Just as coated in grime as the people, the buildings are dark beasts without windows, thick metal pipes running up their sides, steam billowing off to add to the smog overhead. The rest of New Babel lulls you into a false sense of safety. This place shoves the lack of safety in your face.
As we walk down the crowded street, we have to step over piles of shit. Literal shit. It’s disgusting, but not nearly as bad as the bodies.
The first one makes me retch at the smell as we’re forced to step over it. The second, I lose the contents of my stomach when someone in the crowd bumps into me and makes me step on a chest that’s been sitting in the street for at least a week. My foot sinks in as the corpse pops, and the smell that rises up to meet me hits me before I can cover my nose. I puke right there, unable to stop it.
Locke immediately puts his arm around me and holds my hair back, making sure I can keep moving and getting me away from the smell.
“It’s alright,” he says. “Let’s just get to the safehouse.”
“Ugh,” I groan, wiping my mouth off on the back of my arm. “What if it’s like the one in the Frostbit Sea?”
“It’s not much better,” Havoc admits. “So, I hear.”
“You haven’t been on the Titanic?” Locke asks him.
“No. I avoid the Frostbit at all costs,” Havoc says. “I’ve watched too many idiots die by the Minor Boss there.” And then he seems to realize what Locke’s question means. “Wait, you’ve been on the Titanic?”
We both nod, but it’s Locke that says, “Don’t worry. We did almost die to get there.”
Havoc flicks his eyes between us again, seemingly trying to absorb this new fact before he faces forward and leads the way again. This time, he makes sure to give a wide berth to the rotting bodies. I can’t help but think it’s for my benefit more than his own.
It takes us the rest of the day to pick through corpse littered streets and make it to the safehouse. I stare up at the building before us, taking in the large front structure where a sign hangs. In hand painted letters, it reads, “Madam Polly’s Disorderly Hotel,” across the front of it, with a picture of a little kicking automaton in a skirt.
“Uh . . .” I say as I watch men trail inside. “What exactly is this place?”
“Don’t wander off,” Havoc commands. “Especially you, Vesper. Make sure one of us is with you at all times.” He meets my eyes. “They like adding new girls to the roster and this place isn’t exactly consensual.”
My brows furrow. “What the fuck does that mean?”
But I don’t get an answer before we’re shoving through the doors into the bustling safehouse.
None of the other safehouses had been this crowded. They were busy, sure. Especially the AppleFrog’s. But this place is so packed, we have to shove our way through.
“Get out of the way, you human centipedes!” Svetlana shouts and swipes her arms out. A few people move back, but don’t actually give us room. This is a safehouse, after all, and we can’t exactly cause harm without being punished for it. Lucky for us, there’s no need.
When Stevie comes floating in behind us, still tagging along like a pet, the crowd parts, giving him a wide berth.
“Oh my god,” Stevie says, looking in all directions. “This place isnotit.” He sniffs from a nose I can’t see. “Oh my god, ew. It stinks like dick cheese in here.”
I wince when I realize he’s right, but I’m grateful for the space as the crowd moves to avoid being near him. Thankfully, after we push through the initial crowd and enter another large door, the crowd thins out, leaving it much easier to breathe.
“Welcome, players and cryptids,” an automaton man says. He’s golden in color and wears a fine suit like the people in The Gilded District. There’s a strange fake mustache taped to his face beneath his glowing eyes and a small, rounded hat on his head. “Please enjoy yourself in Madam Polly’s Disorderly Hotel. As this is a safehouse, there can be no violence, however, everything else is on the table. If you should like a whore for your pleasure, please mention it to one of the waiters. If you should like nourishment, that can be ordered from the waiters as well. Rooms are available on a first-come, first-serve basis. Please enjoy your stay!”
The automaton twists and turns away from us, back to scrubbing at a glass with a scrap of fabric. I stare from him out across the safehouse area where players are strewn out across various seating. At first, it just looks like people eating. It’s only when I look closer that I notice the girls.
“What the fuck is this place?” I ask, my brows furrowing.
Everywhere I look, there are scantily clad women, collars around their necks like the one the Rat Queen had put on Locke. Some of them are simply lounging near players, but others are in the middle of performing various sex acts. One has her lips around the cock of a man beneath the table while he eats a plate of food. Another bounces on a man’s lap while he laughs and jokes with another group of men. I watch as he grips painful handfuls of her skin as he boasts to the others.
There are no male sex workers that I can see, and there are no women players partaking. In fact, besides the working girls, I’m the only woman in here.
Prostitution is common in Dross. There isn’t much that is off-limits there unless it directly effects Luxe. So, I’m no stranger to brothels. While I was much better as a Spine Jacker and Delivery Service, I didn’t blame the women who took to the brothels to make sure they could feed themselves or their families. Whatever made it possible to survive.
