Chapter 17
Josée had solved one case—and now, she dreamed another dream.
It was the memory of that day, when Marlène first brought her into the royal capital of the Kingdom of Tranlene.
Back then, Josée was still a girl in a simple tunic, jostling in a rattling carriage as it rolled through the city. Its final stop: a brothel.
To avoid scandalizing the public, she was quickly whisked inside.
Josée stood in the entrance hall, wide-eyed.
A rainbow of light spilled from a dazzling crystal chandelier high above, dancing across the floor at her feet. The vivid wallpaper burst with tropical birds mid-flight, their wings frozen in a riot of color. In the corner, a counter overflowed with whiskey bottles, as if the whole world had left a bottle behind. The crimson carpet beneath her was worn with the footprints of countless guests. The air was thick—powder, perfume, and liquor mingled into a heady, almost choking perfume.
"Josée, over here."
Marlène waved her over. When she approached, a pair of servants were filling an enormous blue porcelain tub with steaming water. The bath was chinoiserie-style, adorned with a gourd motif—something even the palace might envy. Josée stared in awe.
(This woman is unbelievably rich...)
Whatever resentment she'd felt toward Marlène moments ago dissolved into pure curiosity and admiration.
"Scrub yourself. Every inch," Marlène instructed. "After that, we’ll measure you for a gown. Then… a full checkup with the doctor. For skin diseases and venereal ailments, of course."
A servant helped scrub her down, then dried her with fine linen. They handed her a silky slip—“For now, wear this,” they said. Her tangled hair, rough from travel, was patiently combed and treated with fragrant oil until it shimmered like spun silk.
Then came the doctor's inspection. Josée, confident in her health, didn’t resist.
With no abnormalities found, she was cleared to stay.
Marlène puffed on her smoking pipe as she studied the transformed girl.
"I'm stunned. You're beautiful... Could've sworn you were some princess."
Then, with a glint in her eye, Marlène pulled out a newspaper.
"This is the most popular paper in all of Tranlene. Can you read it?"
Josée glanced at the page and began to recite without pause:
"His Majesty the King has eradicated the Sarana tribe of the grasslands. He shows intent to liberalize trade caravans..."
"Amazing! You can even read!"
Marlène clapped in delight, but Josée’s mind had already drifted elsewhere.
(The King of Tranlene... destroyed the Sarana? Just for trade?)
She couldn’t believe it. This monarch was willing to wipe out an entire people—her people—for gold. The Sarana were nomads. Their survival hinged on the prosperity of others. Even when tribes feuded, outsiders and travelers were welcomed. They would sooner harm themselves than turn away someone in need. They had never once laid a hand on Tranlene’s citizens.
And yet—
(I... Nol... Father, my brothers... for *this*?)
"Hey, can you read these too, Josée?"
A stack of foreign newspapers was placed before her. She read each one aloud as instructed. For her wandering clan, language was everything—affection, safety, trade, survival. Mastering tongues was essential.
"Incredible!"
Marlène clapped like she was watching a circus performance.
"Honestly, you’re wasted as a courtesan! What should I do with you... Girls who stay quiet belong in bed, but you? You’ve got too much talent to bury."
Josée continued reading, tuning out Marlène’s chatter.
(King of Tranlene... You’ll pay for this.)
Then she turned her gaze to Marlène. A woman who ran such an establishment had to be more than just wealthy—she had to be clever. Josée wanted to know: how does someone like that survive, even thrive, in Tranlene?
Because one day—she would need that power.
One day, she would take her revenge on the king.
"...Say, Marlène."
"Hmm? You talk like an old man, you know that?"
"How did you become so successful?"
Marlène exhaled a stream of smoke and shrugged.
"People. I learned how to work with people."
"People...?"
"Yeah. Most courtesans fixate on tricks—in bed or at parties—but that won't get you far. I drill it into them: you can't rise without learning to love others. And if no one loves you? You’ll be torn down. I've done both—loved, and been loved."
"Loved… and been loved..."
Josée repeated the words slowly, letting them sink in.
(This woman thinks like us nomads.)
In that moment, the foreign girl was certain—she could survive here.
"Marlène. I can write too. Tranlenian, Gertnerian, Soranas—three languages."
"Really!?"
"Nomads have to learn many tongues. It's how we trade."
"I see... Then maybe you can help me with correspondence?"
"Correspondence?"
"Yeah. Business is booming—nobles and merchants send letters to our girls now. But they can’t read them. I’m swamped. And when it comes to noble-speak, I’m hopeless. Could you translate their letters for the girls? Maybe even draft replies?"
And just like that, Josée found herself with a new role.
To win Marlène’s favor, she would take on any task thrown her way.
(And someday… I’ll make my way into the King of Tranlene’s inner circle.)