Chapter 22
Today, Josée dreams again.
A memory—of the day Marlène took her in as an adopted daughter.
She had met Lisette soon after arriving at the Lirondelle brothel.
Lisette was a woman from a poor fishing village. Back home, she’d scraped together a living through near-prostitution, saving just enough to flee to the royal capital. When she first arrived at Lirondelle, she wore outdated rags. But after borrowing against her future wages to visit a fashionable beautician and buy a stylish wardrobe, she transformed—into the most dazzling courtesan in the house.
That was when Josée learned: appearance was everything. No matter how fine the fabric, charm plummeted if grooming was neglected or the outfit mismatched. But with the right clothes, even someone plain could shine.
Josée, who started out running errands and keeping ledgers at the brothel, gradually picked up the tricks of the trade—learning through experience, one situation at a time.
Marlène, the brothel's matron, had once been a courtesan herself. She rarely spoke of the past, but Josée knew she had noble blood. There had to be some weighty reason she ended up in this line of work.
One day, while the two of them were eating alone in the office, Marlène spoke up in her usual offhand manner.
“Being seen as a sexual object... it’s a sad thing.”
Josée didn’t respond. She just kept eating.
“But choosing to become one—that’s even crueler. I don’t want that for you.”
Josée knew better than to interrupt Marlène during one of these monologues. Best to stay quiet and listen.
“My mother was a courtesan. My father was a noble. He left us, of course. We weren’t poor—he paid severance. But my mother never got over being tossed aside. She tried over and over to make me meet him. And then... guess what happened?”
Josée didn’t answer. She had a sinking feeling where this was going. Best-case scenarios didn’t exist in stories like this.
Marlène exhaled smoke.
“He raped me. My father. He was a monster. After that, I decided all men were monsters. And once I accepted that, I became obsessed with taking money from them. That way, I wouldn’t be a victim—I’d be their tamer. A beast tamer, extorting monsters.”
*Beast tamer*, Josée thought. It fit Marlène disturbingly well.
“Makes sense,” she said quietly.
Marlène chuckled, a bitter sound, and lit another cigarette.
“There are a lot of women like that in this business.”
Josée stayed silent.
“Women are always being appraised. But when you set your own price and sell yourself, the power shifts. It’s exhilarating—wringing money out of the men who chase after you, pulling their strings. That money becomes your worth. Your value. And while you’re young and beautiful, that price keeps climbing. You start to believe your value is rising too. But...”
Josée’s expression darkened. She sensed the turn coming.
“Youth and beauty don’t last. So what then? Start a business with what you’ve saved, get married and settle down, or die. In this city, once you’re past your prime, those are the only three choices.”
The word *hags* hung in the air, bitter and raw. Josée shivered despite herself.
“So, I opened a brothel. Nice building, right? Great location. But I haven’t given up. One day, I’ll live in a castle—bigger than this, grander than anything the nobles have. I’m not dying in some dingy office downtown. I want to go out in a bedroom so massive it’d make aristocrats weep.”
Inspired by this ambition, Josée replied, “You know, merchants have gotten so powerful lately that clueless nobles are getting swindled left and right. Some are even selling off their villas. There are three listed upstream along the Lubton River. Sounds like a golden opportunity, no?”
Marlène raised an eyebrow, then laughed.
“Where’d you hear that?”
“A client. Said there’s an oversupply in high-end villas.”
“Hah. Bet they’re still expensive though. Ugh, I need to make more money...”
The Lirondelle brothel was divided into two wings—one for entertaining clients, the other for housing the courtesans. Without day jobs or other ambitions, the women who lived here would be trapped until their youth faded and their value declined.
(A hollow life...)
Just as the thought crossed Josée’s mind—
“Hey,” Marlène said suddenly. “Wanna be my daughter?”
Josée looked up, stunned. Marlène gave her a tired smile.
“I was originally planning to hand the business over to one of the courtesans. But the idea... started to feel empty. I want someone *outside* that world to take over. If a former courtesan runs the place, it’ll just be more of the same. In business—not just brothels—you need something new to stay alive.”
“True,” Josée nodded.
“I wonder what someone like you—someone who’s never sold her body—would make of this place. Could you lift the gloom that clings to it?”
“Gloom?” Josée laughed. “There’s no gloom here. If there were, the men wouldn’t come.”
Marlène looked taken aback, but then her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
“Huh. So you don’t see brothels as a necessary evil?”
“There’s no such thing. If something’s truly necessary, shouldn’t it be good?”
“Well, well. A woman who’s never had to sell herself *does* think differently.”
“Marlène,” Josée said, voice sharp. “That was condescending. And worse, you—who own this brothel—look down on your own courtesans. Sure, no one *wants* to become one. But from what I see, every woman here is a professional. They’ve already crushed their despair. They know they’re needed—by society and by men. If they seem weighed down, if despair clings to them, it’s because of the clients who sneer, ‘Just a whore.’ Those are the ones who should be kicked out. They’re the real poison.”
Josée stopped, startled by her own words.
She had her pride too. It had been trampled—but in a different way.
“The status of courtesans must rise. And for that to happen, *you* need to rise first, Marlène. If you do, the others will follow.”
“You talk big,” Marlène said, amused. “So courtesans should stop looking down on themselves?”
“Separate business from origins. Business is a chain of choices. Origins are a chain of accidents. They’re not the same thing.”
“Bold words. Sounds like something a nomad would say.”
Just then, Lisette burst in.
“Marlène! Can I get an advance on my wages?”
“Oh? Sure. How much?”
“Four hundred deniers, please!”
“Mind if I ask what for?”
Lisette puffed out her chest proudly. “I’m ordering the finest dress they have at the department store! I’ll become the best woman in the room and catch every customer like a dragnet!”
There wasn’t a trace of despair in her eyes.
Josée looked from Lisette to Marlène and felt a surge of hope.
A new age was dawning for courtesans.
Yes, this place was an escape for women—but also a ladder. Those who didn’t climb it would spend their lives serving others. Only those who realized that could shake off misfortune.
And Josée had made up her mind—
She would never let brothels or courtesans be dismissed as a “necessary evil” for men.