But you are still just a boy. Most men tell us they wish they could earn their bread on their backs. They think we have it easy, dealing in “pleasure” all day.’
Wintrow considered it for a moment. ‘I think it would be very hard, to be that intimate and vulnerable to a man one had no true feelings for.’
For just an instant, her eyes went pensive and dark. ‘After a time, all feelings go away,’ she said in an almost childish voice. ‘It’s a relief when they do. Things get so much easier. Then it is no worse than any other dirty job. Unless you get a man who hurts you. Still, one can get hurt working anywhere: farmers are gored by their oxen, orchard workers fall from trees, fishermen lose fingers or drown…’
Her voice trailed away. Her eyes went back to her stitching. Wintrow kept silent. After a time, a pale smile came to the edges of her mouth. ‘Kennit brought my feelings back. I hated him for it. That was the first thing he taught me to feel again: hate. I knew it was a dangerous thing. It is dangerous for a whore to feel anything. Knowing that he had made me feel emotions again just made me hate him even more.’
Why, Wintrow wondered, but he did not say the word aloud. He did not need to.
‘He came into the bagnio one day and looked around.’ Her voice was distant in reminiscence. ‘He was dressed very fine, and was very clean. A dark green broadcloth jacket with ivory buttons, and a spill of white lace down his chest and at his cuffs…He had never come to Bettel’s bagnio before, but I knew who he was. Even then, most of Divvytown knew who Kennit was. He did not come to the brothel like most men did, with a friend or two, or his whole crew. He did not come drunk and boasting. He came alone, sober and purposeful. He looked at us, really looked at us, and then he chose me. “She’ll do,” he told Bettel. Then he ordered the room he wanted and the meal. He paid Bettel, right then, in front of everyone. Then he stepped up to me as if we were already alone. He leaned close to me. I thought he was going to kiss me. Some of the men do that. Instead, he sniffed the air near me. Then he ordered me to go wash myself. Oh, I was humiliated. You would not think a whore can feel humiliation, but we can. Nevertheless, I did what I was told. Then I went upstairs and did as I was told, but no more than that. I was in a fury, and was cold as ice to him. I expected him to slap me, refuse me, or complain to Bettel. Instead, it seemed to suit his wishes.’
She paused. For a time, the silence rang in Wintrow’s ears. He knew he did not want to hear any more about this, yet he avidly hoped she would say more. It was voyeurism, pure and simple, a keen curiosity to know in detail what went on between a man and a woman. He knew the physical mechanics; such knowledge had never been concealed from him. But knowing how such things are done does not convey the real knowledge of how it happens. He waited, looking at the deck by her feet. He dared not lift his eyes to see her face.
‘Every time after that, it was the same. He came, he chose me, he told me to wash, and he used me. He made it so cold. The other men who came to the bagnio, they’d pretend a bit. They would flirt, and laugh with the girls. They would tell stories and see who listened the best. They acted as if we had some say. They made us compete for them. Some would even dance with the whores, or bring little gifts, sweets or perfumes for the ones they liked best. Not Kennit. Even when he began asking for me by my name, it was still just a transaction.’
She shook out the trousers, turned them right side out, and began to sew on them again. She took a breath once, as if she would continue. Then she gave her head a minute shake and went on with her sewing. Wintrow could not think of anything to say. Despite his fascination with her story, he was suddenly horribly tired. He wished he could go back to sleep, but he knew that even stretched out on the floor, sleep would not come to him. Outside, the night paled. Soon it would be dawn. He felt a brief stirring of triumph. He had cut Kennit’s leg off yesterday, and the pirate was still alive today. He had done it. He had saved the man’s life.
Then he rebuked himself sharply. If the pirate still lived, it was only because his will had coincided with Sa’s. To believe anything else was false pride. He glanced again at his patient. His chest still rose and fell. However, he had known that Kennit still lived before he looked. Vivacia knew, and through her, he knew. He did not want to consider that link, nor wonder how strong it was. It was bad enough that he was connected so to the ship. He did not want to share such a bond with the pirate.
Etta made a tiny sound, an intake of breath. Wintrow swung his attention back to her. She didn’t look at him. She kept her eyes focused on her stitching. Yet, there was a quiet glow of pride about her. Plainly, there was something she had well considered and decided to say to him. When she spoke, he listened silently.
‘I stopped hating Kennit when I realized what he was giving me, each time he came. Honesty. He preferred me, and he did not fear to show that. In front of everyone, he chose me, every time. He did not bait me to simper and flirt. I was what he wanted, and I was for sale, so he bought me. He was showing me that as long as I was a whore that was all we could ever share. An honest transaction.’
An odd little smile crossed her face. ‘Sometimes, Bettel would offer him other women. She had many. Some were fancier women, far more beautiful than I; some were women who knew exotic ways to please a man. Bettel sought to win his favour that way. She did that with the house patrons, to keep them loyal to her. She offered them variety, and tempted them to…acquire new preferences. I knew it did not please her to see Kennit always come to me. It made her feel less important, I suppose. Once, in front of everyone, she asked him, “Why Etta? So lanky, so plain. So ordinary. I have courtesans trained in the finest houses in Chalced. Or, if you prefer innocence, I have sweet virginal things from the countryside. You could afford the best in my house. Why do you prefer my cheapest whore?”‘ A tiny smile reached Etta’s eyes. ‘I think she thought to shame him, before the other patrons there. As if he could ever have cared what they thought. Instead, he said, “I never confuse the cost of something with its value. Etta, go and wash yourself. I shall be upstairs.” After that, all the other whores called me Kennit’s whore. They tried to make it a name that stung. But it never bothered me.’
Obviously, Kennit was a deeper man than Wintrow had supposed him to be. Most sailors did not look beyond a whore’s face and figure to make a choice. Kennit evidently had. On the other hand, perhaps the woman was deceiving herself. He glanced up at Etta’s face and then away. Uneasiness swept through him. Whence had that thought sprung? For an instant, he had felt the sting of jealousy. Had it been from the ship herself? He felt the sudden need to speak with Vivacia.
He stood, his knees crackling. His lower back was stiff, his shoulders sore. When had he last slept in a real bed, slept until he had awakened naturally? Eventually, he must pay heed to the needs of his own body, or it would enforce its demands for rest and food. Soon, he promised himself. As soon as he felt safe, he would see to himself. ‘It’s dawn,’ he said awkwardly. ‘I should check on the ship and on my father. I need to get some sleep for myself, too. Will you send for me if Kennit awakens?’
‘If he needs you,’ Etta replied coolly. Perhaps that had been the point of her entire conversation: to make clear to Wintrow her prior claim upon Kennit. Did she see him as a threat somehow? Wintrow decided he did not know enough about women. She lifted her work to her mouth, and bit off a thread. Then she too, stood, shaking out the garment she had finished. ‘For you,’ she said abruptly, and thrust the trousers at him. He started towards her to take the gift from her hands, but she tossed it at him, forcing him to catch it awkwardly. One trouser leg slapped him lightly in the face.
‘Thank you,’ he said uncertainly.
She didn’t look at him, nor acknowledge his words. Instead she opened a clothes chest and rummaged through it. She came up with a shirt. ‘Here. This will do for you. It’s one of his old ones.’ She fingered the fabric for a moment. ‘It’s a very good weave. He knows quality, that one.’
‘I
