Madam
Legacy Name: Madam

Bold italic underline.

The last of the light bled from the dusk and cast her page into shadow. Cosette laid down her pen with a sigh and took up her tinderbox to strike a match. The lantern on her desk flared to life and she breathed in deeply as the fragrance bloomed. The candle inside was made of scented beeswax, a luxury she would have never considered just three years past. Cinnamon and honey swirled into the air as she opened the lantern shutters and made to resume her ledger once more.

There was a knock at the door as she put pen to page.

‘Enter,’ she called.

The door opened and Isabelle sauntered in, a coquettish smile flickering around her lips. Her hair was piled elegantly above her head and her velvet dress was sunset purple, bodice low and skirts cut high at the front to show off her long, pale thighs. It had been an expensive dress, Cosette vaguely recalled, but her girls and boys all chose their own wardrobes to excellent effect. They knew their own bodies and assets and how to flatter themselves the best.

Cosette continued writing as Isabelle draped herself across the padded chair opposite her. ‘Yes?’ she asked.

‘There’s a girl asking for you at the door. Wants to work for you, she said.’

‘What do you think of her?’

‘She’s a skinny little underdeveloped thing. Not much flesh on her bones to tempt a man,’ Isabelle waved a hand languidly though the air. ‘Wouldn’t do any harm to take a look though I suppose.’

Cosette nodded distractedly. The sums at the bottom of the page were growing large and in any case, the decision didn’t surprise her. Most of her stable, Isabelle included, had begun exactly the same way. Few would begrudge another unfortunate’s attempt to claw themselves out of the street as they had once done.

She finished a row of numbers and looked up. Isabelle lounged across the chair, knees provocatively crooked even at leisure. Some of her workers seemed to be unable to act differently whether around clients or not. ‘Very well then. Send her up and close the door behind you.’

She bent to her ledger again, calculating rows and tallies of profit. Foreign ambassadors always made for rich pickings. Men and women were often lustful after weeks of hard travel, almost comically eager to spend heavily on good quality flesh.

A hesistant knock at the door interrupted the final line. Cosette frowned and crossed her numbers out. Timidity was not a virtue she sought in her establishment.

‘Enter,’ she called again.

Cosette corrected her ledger without looking up, listening to the door squeak open, followed by light footsteps, muffled against the soft carpet. When she was done, she laid down her pen and closed the book, looking up to inspect the girl before her.

She was a thin slip of a thing, clad in a fine white lace dress. She stood awkwardly in the centre of the room, shoulders hunched and head down, eyes fixed on the floor as if expectant of sudden and terrible divine retribution.

‘Do you know where you are and the nature of this place?’ Cosette asked without preamble.

‘Yes Madame.’ The girl answered without lifting eyes or head.

‘You wish to work here then? Your dress is fine, your speech is impeccable. You have the clear skin of a wealthy upbringing. Yet you come to my door?’

At this, the girl looked up, eyes flashing with conviction. ‘I know where I am!’ she insisted. ‘I would any other choice, but I have none! The man I am pledged to is-‘

‘Nothing of consequence to me.’ Cosette pinned her with a stare. ‘I do not care about your name or your circumstances. Many of mine choose their own monikers and fashion great tales of their pasts, you may do the same if you are so inclined.’

‘If you truly wish to work here, I will offer you a place, with bed and board and effects at my expense. You will be protected, against all who seek to do you harm so long as you abide by the rules of this place and by my will.’

The girl shivered but met her eyes with her own. ‘I understand,’ she croaked out, ‘and I accept.’

‘Good.’ Cosette rose from her seat and glided around her massive oaken writing desk. ‘Now strip.’

The girl gaped at her, eyes wide and incredulous.

‘You now work in a brothel,’ Cosette sighed. ‘Surely you would have expected this at least?’

The girl coloured miserably. ‘Yes Madam,’ she managed.

Cosette inspected the lastest addition to her stables dispassionately as she removed her clothing. Small breasts, narrow hips, as pale and as skinny as a willow withe. Isabelle had been right, she reflected. Underdeveloped indeed. ‘How old are you, girl?’ she asked.

The red flush spread further, down to the girl’s neck. ‘I’ll be nineteen in two days’ time,’ she choked out.

‘Very well. We shall rely on blind lust to cover nature’s deficits then. If no-one requests you as a girl, you shall blend in fine amongst my boys.’

She swept to the door in a flurry of satin and lace, motioning for the shivering girl to dress herself again. ‘Shall we set to then? Make yourself decent and follow me.’

Bold italic underline. Downstairs was alight with merriment and business. Her establishment was one of the finest in the city, renowned for its discretion and the quality of the stock inside. Ever since she taken it over three years past, it had flourished in both fame and fortune.

The tables were full with select clientele, the rich, the famous, the rising names of the city. Her varied suites had hosted kings and empresses, famed knights and artists, lords and ladies and priests. Her doors opened with the last light of the sun and all who could afford the exorbitant entry fee were entitled to stay until the next twilight fell.

Cosette stopped at the bottom of the stairs, casting her gaze over the common room. All of her stable were instructed to refuse nothing a client asked of them, save violence that would keep them from working the next day. If a lady wanted a boy to take her on the stairs with full public audience, so it would be. If a lord wanted a few girls to accompany him one of the themed suites, so they would all go. Her business thrived on wanton debauchery and she encouraged it wherever it flourished.

Sigurd was plying the clients with drinks from a silver platter, weaving his way around the room to offer brimming glasses of alcohol to those who looked like they needed it. As usual, he had oiled himself to draw attraction to his muscled chest, and as even as she beckoned him over to give her a report, a woman stood to draw him away with a hand placed possessively around his lower hips.

Sigurd shrugged minutely at her as he was led away, eyes flicking to the side to indicate Hamen, seated behind the expansive bar. Cosette nodded and made her way there, beckoning the girl to follow.

Hamen was one of a few in her stable that she employed primarily for other than physical attractiveness. He was short and round and ugly, but he had the voice of a seraph and a knowledge of all distilled alcohols under the sun. He was also unquestioningly loyal to the woman who had pulled him off the cruel streets despite his damning looks.

‘’Goodeve, Madame,’ he purred at her. ‘Is this the new one who came a-knocking?’

‘Indeed it is.’ Cosette took a seat at the counter. ‘What do you think?’

His reply was obviously flattering. ‘Skinny and pale and shy.’

She could not fault him for his accuracy. The girl was painfully shy, eyes fixed on her hands clenched in front of her. She flamed crimson at the mere mention of sex and had had carefully averted her eyes from the man

Cosette narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. Given your background, perhaps it is not too much to hope that you are a virgin?’

The resultant flush was all the answer she needed. Hamen chuckled at the girl’s crimson cheeks. ‘You’re a working woman now, missy,’ he tried kindly. ‘We’ve nary a need for a maidenhead here. Best you rid yourself of it sharpish.’

Cosette laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder, ignoring the flinch. ‘It is as he says,’ she said firmly. ‘I have no place for a shy girl who guards her virginity behind a shell of demureness. You promised to obey the rules of this place and my will. Here is my order then.’

She turned them to point a finger at a richly dressed man, surrounded by his companions and a bevy of her stock at his table. ‘He is an honoured guest of great wealth and long standing here. Often he gives trinkets and coin to his current partner, but he is fickle and has no favourite he returns to. Do you see all the girls and boys fawning over him? They are your competition. You will make him choose you tonight, with whatever skill or tactic you please. If you do not, then I have no need of you in this place.’

It was cruel and she could see it in the girl’s eyes. Nevertheless, it was better than what she had been offered when she began as a whore. The man was not unattractive and his partners had not reported any unsavoury habits of his.

The girl swallowed. ‘Yes, madam.’

She stood and straightened her dress as best she could before wending her way through the crowd to the richly dressed man.

She pushed her way through and stood at his side, whispering something into his ear. He waved her way as if ridding himself of a fly. The girl’s face crumpled for a second.

Then, she did the unexpected. She swung herself across the table, pushing her way into his view. She leaned forwards and said spoke again, moving a hand boldly -

lalala ~ appropriateness here

Cosette sighed and turned away. So the girl had some nerve after all. The merchant would likely choose her now. He would take her through the night and leave a trinket on the bed as he left, a good piece of something valuable. Cosette never took anything the clients gave their partners. Most of her stable were able to buy themselves free of their oath to her when they chose to retire; she let them go gladly. There were always more shivering wretches on the street to replace sagging breasts and loose muscles, and each one she took in was another who could make a new life for themselves.

She had begun like them too. Now she could do they same.