“Sweet to see you, dearie, I insist,” she said, in the accents and locutions of a previous generation. But the warmth of her welcome was interrupted by the pervert, who came to stand beside her. He whispered in her ear, and Thanakar could see a pebble of surprise dropped in before her face re-formed. She smiled again, but as she broke away from the pervert and came towards him Thanakar could see her hesitate, unsure of how to greet him or whether to offer him a glass of wine. They can’t be used to Starbridge customers, he thought.

The woman curtsied and reached her hand out for the doctor’s raincoat. “We are honored,” she murmured, making the gestures of respect. “You will find us . . . very clean.”

Behind her, the pervert sneered. “He’s not interested in that. Not this one. He wants to see her.” And to Thanakar, “She’s available for half an hour or an hour. Though I usually take four,” he added with a kind of bitterness.

“Hush, no need for that,” said the woman. “No need for that, I insist. I’m sure his lordship will be . . .”

She broke off, smiling.

Nauseated suddenly by the smell of perfume and cigarettes, Thanakar turned away. He wiped his mouth along the back of his hand and inhaled the odors of his own skin, liberated by the moisture. “I won’t be long,” he said. “Be prepared to let me take her away. I am a rich man,” he said, moving his lip along his thumb towards the tattoo of the key which opened all doors. “Where is she?”

The pervert’s mouth gaped open. “Tricked, by God—hypocrite! Eleven dollars, my God,” he snarled, grabbing Thanakar by the forearm. “Starbridge scum, you can’t take her away from me.”

Instantly masked bouncers materialized on either side of him, as if conjured from the air. They pulled his hand away and forced his arm behind his back. “I’m a very rich man,” repeated Thanakar mercilessly, drunkenly.

The pervert burst into hoarse weeping, though no tears came. “Tricked!” he cried. “By God, if I had known, I never would have led you here. Not for eleven hundred dollars.” His voice rose into a scream as the bouncers behind him tightened their grip. It shut off like water from a faucet as one of them twisted his wrist. And in the sudden silence, women appeared out of the various doors of the rooms that lined the hallway. “Mrs. Silkskin,” said Thanakar’s hostess to one of them. “Could you fetch the little priestess?

Pack her clothes.”

“She can’t walk,” said the woman doubtfully.

“Fetch her, dearie; I insist,” repeated the hostess. “Marco will help you.” She turned back to the doctor.

“Please, my lord, let me take you somewhere where we can talk. Would you like a glass of wine? I can open a new bottle.”

“No,” said Thanakar, smelling the back of his hand. “Where is she? We’ll settle the money later. I want to see her . . . the way you have her.”