Chapter 12

‘We'll take the next one, thank you.’ With these words, Seroin grabbed Tomga by the arm and held him in place.

In front of them, a wide, round stone platform slowly rose up, pulling itself straight up the wall of a column tower. After a few moments, it flew down again, the many passengers on it now distributed across the floors of the tower.

Seroin pulled Tomga onto the platform. ‘The fewer people on the platform with us, the fewer hands in our pockets.’ She turned to the operator. ‘Silver kitchen. And slowly, he's afraid of heights.’

The dwarf at the stone desk on the platform nodded gruffly and raised his hand. The platform floated into the air, and Tomga immediately stepped back into the centre.

‘Calm down. Look up, just at the sky, look up.’ Seroin couldn't suppress a giggle.

As the stone slowly flew upwards, the knight actually dared to glance down at the neighbourhood. ’There's... a lot... too much...’

‘Too much what? Drunkenness? Partying? Naked flesh? I warned you about the red-light district, didn't I? All the urges you find in a village tavern are here, but on a scale... well... of an entire city.’ Seroin leaned forward and looked out over the neighbourhood.

The houses here were lower, barely more than one story high. Instead, they stood close together, forming many winding alleys. Countless colourful lights shot up towards them through these paths, making the whole thing look like a pulsating mosaic. You could almost see a kind of pulse in the glow of the countless lights, as if the entire neighbourhood were alive with wild lust.

Here, too, the dozens of faces of the three large families were projected into the air, their advertising slogans providing a background to the night-time noises.

What made the Lieb-quarter stand out were the famous column towers. Instead of being spaced at a respectful distance, the stone giants now stood in groups of three or four next to each other. Dozens of wide bridges ran between the nearby towers, where, several hundred steps in the air, the nightlife pulsated loudly and colourfully. The groups of column towers looked like highwaymen, suspiciously turned away and arranged in a circle, arms on each other's shoulders, ready to plan their next robbery.

Seroin enjoyed the sight of the neighbourhood more than the neighbourhood itself, but even that pleasure was taken away from Tomga. ‘I don't begrudge anyone their wine. Or a shared bed when you've been travelling alone for a long time. But here... everything is thrown at you. People were constantly shouting in my face. Drink! That powder! Women! Men! A.M.I.s! It's as if the neighbourhood wants to numb you to death.’

‘Some people want that.’ Seroin sniffed the air. ’The people in the fields. Hard work deserves a celebration. Or the people here. Where better to spend your A.M.I.s than in the life you know.’

Tomga backed away. ‘Why is this monster flying outside the tower? I was told that these platforms fly INSIDE the tower, in their courtyards! This is worse.’

Seroin pointed to the dwarf at the desk. ’Security. Easier access. And this one is public. They want to invite the good people, don't they?’

The dwarf grinned, and the platform stopped abruptly. ‘Silver Kitchen, 31st floor.’

Seroin pulled Tomga off the platform and into the column tower. The knight had just breathed a sigh of relief when his eyes widened again. He staggered forward slowly and braced himself against the railing of the walkway, now looking up and down the hollow core of the structure.

The column towers here had no walls; only the supporting pillars and foundation walls held up the gigantic structure. On every floor, nightlife roared and boomed throughout the entire neighbourhood. You could see every shot of liquor, every kiss bought and every long-awaited thrust, every stab of powder, every A.M.I. in the veins. Only a few floors had walls to protect them from view, and one did not want to imagine what was happening behind them.

Seroin tapped him cautiously on the shoulder. ‘The hearts of the red-light district. Not a sight for you. Come on. The Silver Kitchen is in the tower next door, just across the bridge.’

The elf followed silently.

The two ran along their column along the walkway to one of the wide bridges leading to the next tower. Here, too, countless stalls awaited them. Many sold greasy food, a necessity with all the schnapps, or so they were told. Others openly displayed their powder, from the fear of death to the lust of a bull; you could buy any emotion, for the right price, of course. Bodies of all shapes, ages and origins were on display, barely clothed. With some of them, you wondered how they could still be in such a business at their age. With others, one did not want to ask how they had ended up already in such a business at their age.

When they reached the bridge, the knight took a deep breath and gathered himself.

It stretched for hundreds of steps to the next tower and was quite wide, but this did little to calm Tomga.

Seroin dug her fingers into his arm and pressed him close to her. She nodded silently and began to lead him along the bridge. He thanked her with a snort and concentrated his gaze stubbornly ahead of him. It was one of the few times the young woman had tolerated, even initiated, such close contact with another living being. But her heart remained calm, her mind clear. She could push him away at any time if it became too much for her.

When they reached the other pillar, Tomga exhaled, Seroin let go and pointed to the opposite side of the tower. ‘There. That area. That's the Silver Kitchen. Your fine lady Olva had several letters with that name, even a certificate from there. That's where the woman was last seen.’

‘I can already see what they sell there. Skin and services. That pains me.’

Seroin held his shoulder. ‘Many have nothing else to offer. So don't judge them. But above all, keep your name to yourself. These three towers are in the hands of the Ibis Gang. You've already seen how some of them are looking at you, understand? Find yourself another name or just don't say yours. That's always expected here anyway.’

‘And if they find me? I'm not going to call for one of your inspectors! Those people...’

‘They don't come here anyway.’ Seroin pointed up and down the tower. ’They know that at night, the good inspectors only dare to venture into the red-light district in large numbers or with G.M.E.s. These streets belong to the gangs. We're on our own. So be careful.’

With one swift movement, Seroin marched towards the premises of the Silver Kitchen, her gaze fixed on the bar inside. The location was half open, with only one wall at the back with several doors suggesting a number of back rooms. Otherwise, her visitors simply staggered in from the large circular corridor around the pillar. Here, too, armed men and women sat in the corners, eyeing every guest with the eyes of vultures.

Seroin leaned against the bar and tapped on the wood soaked in schnapps. ‘Two blood gin. And more.’

The gaunt and almost bald man behind the bar quickly poured her and Tomga a couple of small glasses, tilting his head to one side with interest.

‘We're looking for skin. My companion and I are losing our desire for each other in bed. We're looking for a third person. Send us your good women, but not the expensive ones. We'll choose.’ Seroin skilfully rolled an A.M.I. across the bar. ‘And we'll be served first. With the necessary discretion. Understood?’

The man caught the A.M.I. expressionlessly and retreated into one of the back rooms.

‘Disgusting! So simple and... I want to know...’ Tomga shook himself, but Seroin caught his gaze.

‘You don't want anything except a good fuck. That's why we're here, nothing more, understood? You sit on one side, I'll sit on the other, they'll bring us a selection in a moment. Talk to them, smile at them, act like a big man. Don't ask too many direct questions. Pretend it's just the kind of woman you're looking for.’

Tomga turned away, his face red, and took a seat.

The spacious room was mainly filled with wide, soft armchairs, on which sat the already drunk customers, some with scantily clad women on their laps. Many were talking, some were already kissing, and a few were about to tear all their clothes off.

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Seeing the elf knight in the midst of this lustful crowd, he looked like a lost child.

Seroin let herself fall into one of the armchairs and poured the schnapps down her throat. She hastily searched for her powder in her bag and, after the usual stab with the accompanying fork, her focus returned. It didn't take long before the first women came to her.

It wasn't the first time Seroin had been presented with such a selection, especially not on business. But today, the ladies of the Silver Kitchen were tempting her with neither meat nor information. Many whispered memorised compliments in her ears, others wanted to touch her directly, whereupon Seroin slapped their hands away. It wasn't difficult for her to play the bored customer when faced with such a selection.

Tomga, on the other hand, let himself go. One moment there was only one elf lady sitting on his lap, the next there were three around him. The knight tried to hold back, but Seroin could already hear the first introductions to lengthy war stories and adventures he was supposed to have experienced.

The ladies around him giggled and beamed with completely fake enthusiasm, but Tomga clearly enjoyed it all.

Seroin was about to grab him and beat him up right there and then, when a sentence from the woman on her lap caught her attention.

‘So you're looking for an elf? Young and naive, right?’ The almost bald whore on Seroin's lap smoothed her wrinkled, stained dress. ‘Because the other girls tell me you want naive and young, and well, that describes me.’

Seroin raised her eyebrows at these cold, hard words. “Naive? And in that tone?” She looked her up and down and saw nothing but lies.

The woman's skin was scarred and rough, hanging limply on her flesh like overripe fruit. Her eyes bore witness to a former brilliance, now replaced by emptiness and the need for powder. But above all, the woman's posture screamed of a lost life. One of her lower legs was a prosthesis made of splintered wood. She stood straight and yet strangely bent in front of Seroin. As if she no longer dared to stand up to her full height.

The prostitute clicked her tongue and pointed to Seroin's arm. ‘You don't get into the Silver Kitchen for better acting while fucking. Powder sting in your skin? How does it feel? May I?’

Seroin pulled out the powder-soaked fork. ‘Hurry up. It's probably frowned upon at work. But yes, I'm looking for a young elf. Preferably a new growth. One like this?’

The prostitute stabbed herself with the fork and let the powder take effect, but after a few moments her face contorted in disappointment. ’Why would you want to inject yourself with this? Do you work in our business too?’

‘Young elf, new blood.’ Seroin let a half-full A.M.I. slip through her fingers. “Then buy whatever you want. But I wouldn't inject too much. Your leg? Flutter disease?’

Without looking, the prostitute tucked the glass cylinder away and let herself fall back onto Seroin's lap. ”Flutter disease. It started turning to stone. I had it removed. It is what it is and has to be that way. And as for young elves, the new growth. We have one. But only one. She arrived recently, a shy little mouse, praying all the time. She lives in a room here. Our life isn't good for her, she's not made for it. The little one comes from the Cold Belly, I think. I'm also a new growth, but I'm made of different stuff than her.’ With a sad chuckle, the woman tapped her prosthesis.

‘Funny. Where is she now?’ Seroin pulled the prostitute closer to her, a long-forgotten feeling of power shooting through her veins.

‘Haven't seen her in a while. I don't know exactly where, girls come and go here, no one pays much attention anymore. They all come with the same story, so it's easy to lose track.’

Seroin pulled the woman's chin towards her. ‘And why are you here? Dreaming of a new life? Or nightmares at home?’

The prostitute secretly fumbled for a fork and raised it. ’Home. Father... He did things when mother wasn't there. You know how it is. The main thing is to get away. It's bad here too. But different.’

‘And? Is your father dead?’

‘No, I couldn't. But if I ever see him again, then yes, I'll slit him open.’

Seroin let her go. ‘Tell me his name, maybe he'll die if I see him. On the house.’

The woman on her lap grinned amusedly. ’Ha, I'd be angry, I want to see him burn. But fine. I'm always here. If you find the guy named Polbin. Stick a dagger in his balls.’

With bloody relish, Seroin's memories of her last visit to the Growth authority raced back. ‘I will. It's a deal. But I can assure you, him.’ She pointed at Tomga. ‘He's not looking for his daughter to rape. It's about his sister. And he's here because he's worried.’

‘Ha, they all say that. Sure. But fine, honestly, it's none of my business. And half A.M.I. is half A.M.I. You'll have to ask them.’ The prostitute pointed to a petite woman on Tomga's lap, dressed only in a thin white shirt that barely covered her. ’Her and the elf from the Cold Belly. They were our newest girls. They lived together and talked to each other the most.’

Seroin snapped her fingers to signal the prostitute to get up, and hurried over to Tomga.

The knight grinned proudly in the middle of one of his stories. ‘...and Finlora, she was the daughter of Ideas, the demigoddess of the hunt, one of many. What a woman. And what a fighter. Rarely has one seen...’

Seroin snapped her fingers again and immediately all the ladies looked at her, their eyes suddenly losing their false hint of enthusiasm and regaining the coolness of business life. ‘Everyone out, except for this one. Find yourselves other customers, we only have A.M.I.s for one.’

At these words, the artists of the night left Tomga instantly, no one even turning to look at him.

Only the petite woman in the white shirt remained sitting on his lap, seemingly barely hearing the words.

‘Seroin, I was in the middle of...’ Almost sad, the knight looked around for his lost companion. ’Why are we at this one...’

‘To the bar, come on.’ Seroin grabbed the girl under the arm and met no resistance; worse, the woman seemed limp. “Show me your arm. Of course, stabbed. Old and new scars.” She pushed the woman onto a stool and looked her in the eye.

The girl barely noticed her.

‘The wounds are heavily covered in numbing powder, I don't know what kind.’

‘No, that can't be.’ Tomga leaned against the counter. “She was just laughing with all of us about my jokes and she was so beautiful and...’

‘I knew you wouldn't notice.” Seroin felt for the girl's pulse. ’Your name?’

Nothing.

‘Age? Where were you born?’

Again, nothing but a blank stare and a drooling grin.

‘Yes, she's out, there's nothing more coming today.’ Seroin searched her bag. “And I don't have anything for that either. Fuck!’

‘Is she sick?” Tomga noticed the little girl's condition for the first time. ’By Diersa. She looks poisoned. Possessed.’

‘Something like that. Numbing powder. I can only guess what it feels like to be stung that often. But we're not getting anywhere like this…’

‘Should I heal her?’ Tomga looked at Seroin with a look of complete innocence. “Can your powder be healed?’

Seroin hesitated. ”With our healing spells, yes. With yours? I don't know.’

‘We've come this far.‘ Before she could react, Tomga gently held a finger to the girl's temple and murmured a short prayer to himself. A soft light glowed briefly in his hand, and he quickly withdrew it.

‘Just go for it, of course!’ Seroin cursed softly and examined the girl.

Slowly but surely, the little girl's gaze steadied and her lips began to form words. ‘I... where... water?’

‘Right away. Everything right away. An elf, a new growth, from the Cold Belly, we're looking for an elf who started here. Where is she?’

‘Yes... yes... I know her. We live together. I... she hasn't been here for a long time... she wanted to go pray... not here... in a better place... with gods... my throat, water!’

Tomga was about to turn to the bartender when Seroin snapped him back, holding the girl tighter. ‘Where? Why pray? Where did she go?’

‘I don't know... not anymore... I'm writing it down... the things I want to remember... my diary... only the good things...’ Suddenly, the little girl began to tremble with fresh tears. ’Because... what I see here... what I'm doing here... I don't want it... it's coming back... it's back... why... I didn't want it anymore...’

Seroin immediately pulled out her fork again and stabbed the woman in the arm. ‘Calm down, everyone, calm down, get that book, your diary, bring it here, now, and we'll get you out of here, out safely.’

With a lost nod, the woman stumbled away, both arms wrapped tightly around herself.

‘What's going on?’ Tomga looked after her with concern.

‘She's about to explode. Your spell was a really stupid idea. Maybe she's taking H.M.H.s. If you flushed them out of her, we've got a big problem. It'll destroy her... it'll...’ Seroin peered past him and saw the almost bald whore from earlier stomping angrily towards them. ’And that's not going to be pretty.’

‘Why? Did you upset her? Or promise her a job?’

‘No, I gave her a fake A.M.I. And she seems to have figured it out faster than the rest.’ Seroin put on a forgiving smile and raised her arms apologetically. ’I must have made a mistake, I'm sorry, my dear.’

Only Tomga's quick hand saved Seroin's life. The elf grabbed the prostitute's wrist before her dagger could reach Seroin's chest.

The bald woman looked at Seroin with burning eyes. ‘For the Young Harvest! You'll die here too, Shiverlip´s toy!’

Tomga skilfully pushed the attacker to the ground, pulling the dagger from her fingers.

For the first time in a long time, Seroin had to force her instincts awake. ‘What... What did you say?!’ Instantly, she drew her hand crossbow and fired.

But Tomga's hand intervened again, knocking the weapon away and deflecting the bolt, which instead rammed into the dirty ground.

Seroin stared at him. ‘What? She wanted to...’

‘She's disarmed. And on the ground. Where is your honour?’

‘Where is my... That piece of filth wanted to...’ Seroin couldn't continue, the woman on the ground was screaming at her.

‘The Gardener is coming for you, Seroin, you and that disgusting knight! You'll be beaten, you'll suffer, everything! The Young Harvest is coming for you!’

Seroin was about to grab the woman when her eyes took in two things at once, and she wasn't sure which worried her more.

The girl in the white shirt seemed to have noticed all the commotion. She stood by the colonnade and looked as if she was about to start running.

Several customers in the Silver Kitchen rose to their feet, their eyes fixed on Seroin, their hands on weapons or glass balls. They hummed almost in unison. ‘For the Gardener.’

Seroin and Tomga instinctively moved closer together, back to back, both assessing the situation in their own way. The knight hissed at her. ‘The girl, she's running, after her. If we're losing her...’

‘We're losing her forever. Right. These people want us dead. So run. After her and away from them. Plan?’

‘Plan!’ The knight drew his sword and rushed after the girl, his gaze suddenly focused with iron determination.

Seroin paused for just half a breath. As the tall elf started to run, she quickly loaded a bolt into her crossbow and immediately buried it in the heart of the prostitute lying on the ground.