“I have no candles, Master Tora. Too much money,” his hostess said sadly. “I can leave my lamp, but please bring it back.
Oil’s expensive, too.” She closed the door behind him.
The oil also stank and smoked. He squatted on the floor, and they looked at each other by the fitful light. Tora thought at first that she was a little girl of ten or eleven. Little Flower was tiny and small-boned, and perhaps she had been pretty once, but now she looked sick and discontented; her eyes were ringed with dark circles, her lips pinched, and her thin cheeks unnaturally flushed. She gave him a nod and a tremulous smile.
He saw no obvious bruises on her and said, “I’ve been told that one of your customers has hurt you badly. Is that so?” She trembled a bit then, and nodded again. “I can’t lie down on my back, but I could be on top, if the gentleman liked. Or I could kneel and-” Her voice, soft and girlish, was breathless with desperate eagerness to please.
Tora interrupted quickly. “I didn’t come for that.”
“Oh.” Her face fell. “I thought . . .” Tora pulled a handful of coppers from his sash. “I’ll pay for your time, of course. Whatever you would get from a customer.” The slender face lit up, and he thought that she had very pretty, soft eyes. “Thank you, sir,” she said in her childlike voice.
“Would ten coppers be too much?”
“Not at all.” Tora counted out fifteen and pushed them toward her.
She did not touch the money. “I’m called Little Flower. Does the gentleman have a name?”
“Tora.”
She smiled again, and Tora was glad that Wada had not touched her face.
“What shall I do for you, Master Tora?”
“Tell me about Wada.”
Her eyes widened. She shook her head and pushed the fifteen coppers his way. “No. He’ll kill me if he finds out.” Tora pushed the money back. “He won’t find out. Can I see what he did to you?”
She hesitated. A flush spread from her cheeks to her ears and neck. It made her look prettier and healthier. She got to her feet, clumsily, supporting herself with one hand against the wall.
Tora saw that she wore a wrinkled hemp gown dyed in a blue and white pattern of flowers. Around her tiny middle was a brown-and-black-striped sash. It was tied loosely, and when she undid the knot, it dropped to the floor and her gown fell open.
Underneath, she was naked and, except for small, high breasts, entirely childlike, since she had shaved off all body hair. Tora’s skin prickled unpleasantly. He was ashamed for staring.
Turning slowly, she let the gown fall from her shoulders.
Tora felt sick. Muttering a curse, he got to his feet and raised the oil lamp to look at her back and buttocks. The blood had dried, but the welts, and there were many of them crisscrossing each other from the nape of her neck to the back of her knees, looked swollen and inflamed. He could hardly imagine the pain she must endure at every move. And she had offered to service him anyway.
He picked up her gown and placed it very gently around her shoulders again. “Has a doctor treated you?” She shook her head.
He opened the door and shouted for the landlady. She appeared at a trot, dragging two toddlers behind her.
“What’s the matter?” she asked anxiously.
“Send for a doctor,” he snapped. “I’ll pay for it.” Then he slammed the door in her face and turned back to Little Flower.
She was tying her sash. Her head was lowered, but he could see the tears running down her face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Let me help you down.”
She settled on the floor, carefully, and brushed away her tears, giving Tora a little smile. “I’ll be all right,” she murmured.
“It’ll heal.”
He stared at her in helpless anger. His familiarity with the pleasure quarters of the capital had taught him that there were men who enjoyed sex only when they could inflict pain on their partner. But this? He asked harshly, “And next time? Will you let him beat you to death?”
She flinched a little at his tone. “Perhaps he won’t want me anymore.”
Tora ran his eye over her appraisingly. He liked his women well padded and lusty. But a man like that bastard Wada probably got his kicks out of abusing children, and she looked more childlike than ever, cowering there and wiping at her tears with the back of her hand. “What if he does?” She looked away. “Life is hard. It’s my karma because I did bad things in my previous life.”
He said fiercely, “No. Wada is the evil one, and I’ll make him pay for this.”
She gave him a startled look, then leaned forward and put a small, somewhat dirty hand on his arm. “You’re very kind, Master Tora,” she said softly, “but please do not go near Master Wada. You’re younger, stronger, and very much more handsome, but he’ll kill you.”
Tora threw back his head with a shout of laughter.
“What? That little bug? Listen, Little Flower, you don’t know me very well. If he weren’t so repulsive, I’d chew him up and spit him out.”
She started to weep again, covering her face and rocking back and forth.
“What’s wrong? What did I say?”
“Oh,” she said, her voice muffled, “you don’t know him.”
“Well, that’s why I’m here. I was hoping you’d explain. See, I need some information from the bastard. I think he knows something about someone I’m trying to find.” She looked up then. A shadow passed over her face. “Is she someone . . . like me?”
He shook his head. “No. It’s . . . a man. He came here about a month ago as a prisoner and has disappeared.” She brightened, but shook her head. “Then he’s dead. Or in the mines, which is the same thing.” Tora clenched his fists. “I’ve got to make sure.”
“Is it your father, or brother?”
“No. I can’t tell you. Just talk to me about Wada. Whatever you know. His habits, the places he goes after dark, where he eats, his friends.”
She gave a snort. “He’s the head of the police. They have no friends. His constables are worse than the criminals. Everybody’s afraid of them. Those who complain are dead a day later.
So nobody complains ever.”
Turtle had said the same thing. “Has it always been this way?” She frowned. “It’s worse now. Anyway, Master Wada’s got no friends, unless you count the constables, and most of them hate him, too. He eats in the best places for free, compliments of the owners. I don’t know about his habits, except for what he does to girls like me.”
“He has other women?”
“Sometimes. But he likes me best.” She said this almost proudly.
“Where were you when he did this to you?”
“At the Golden Phoenix. He sent word for me to come there.
It’s a restaurant near the harbor. There’s a little cottage out back for private parties. He goes there so the other guests won’t hear the girls scream.”
Heavy, dragging steps approached their door, and someone belched grossly. Then the door slid back, and a fat, bald old man peered in, bringing with him the sour fumes of cheap wine.
“What do you want?” Tora snapped.
“I’m the doctor,” the old man grunted, and squeezed his bulk in. He put down a medicine box and used his sleeve to wipe the sweat off his red face and scalp. His robe was dark, like a doctor’s, but so filthy that it was difficult to guess its original color. Taking a couple of uncertain steps, he sat down heavily in front of Little Flower. More rancid wine fumes filled the small cubicle. Tora closed the door and stood against the wall. The man’s body seemed to fill the space.
