Chapter 75: The Pleasures and Hardships Before My Eyes

Regarding the establishment across from the Shaggy Bear, “Yearning for Thighs,” to describe it in the simplest terms, it is not a brand-new building, yet its three stories are undeniably orderly and spotless, and its founding carries with it a rather touching story. It is said that several years ago, when “Madame Carmen” first arrived in the Temple District, she was alone, pregnant, and suffered a miscarriage; it was other vulnerable women who helped her through that time. Once her health returned, she did everything she could to organize them, negotiating a partnership with the Ram Gang and building what is now known as “Yearning for Thighs.”

Upon entering the bathhouse, Victor immediately booked two of the farthest private baths for himself and Dandelion, each with a large tub of hot water. As a laborer who had spent long hours turning the stirring rod, he followed his usual routine after bathing by having his shoulders massaged to relieve his fatigue.

Today, the woman loosening the boy’s taut muscles was a familiar face—older, not beautiful, but with excellent technique and strong hands.

A faint gasp escaped Victor’s lips, the result of enduring the pain as his tense shoulders were kneaded.

At that moment, the door opened, and a strong scent of perfume wafted in. Light footsteps came straight to the chair beside him and sat down.

Though his eyes were closed, Victor knew at once who it was. “Good afternoon, Madame Carmen.”

“Good day, Victor. You haven’t been by in quite some time,” Carmen’s voice was husky, lazy, and sultry.

“I can’t help it—work has kept me busy lately, so I haven’t had the chance to come.”

She chuckled softly. “Don’t say that. You’ve always supported us, and my girls all speak highly of you. They say you’re a polite and gentle boy.”

Victor didn’t consider that much of a compliment—at least, not here. He thought that being bold and domineering was what earned praise in this place.

“Madame Carmen wouldn’t have come all this way just to compliment me on my manners and gentleness, would she?”

“Of course not. There’s something I’d like to ask your help with.”

Thinking of the connection between the guild and the Ram Gang, Victor frowned. “Please, go ahead—but I can’t promise I’ll be able to help,” he replied, a note of reservation in his voice.

“Don’t be so guarded. What I’m asking is, in a sense, related to gang disputes, but also not—and I don’t think it would violate your neutrality.” Carmen’s tone was gentle, and Victor happened to open his eyes just in time to catch a faint smile at the corner of her lips.

He remembered that last month, when he came more often, Carmen rarely smiled. Even when she did, it would quickly fade. Now, however, her smile was natural—she must have had good fortune recently, perhaps her relationship with her boyfriend had grown more stable?

She tossed her wavy hair, brushing the strands away from her eyes. “Since the curfew was lifted, some of my girls have been working much later into the night. The Salamander Gang knows the city’s girls are under the Ram Gang’s protection, so they pretend to be drunkards and harass my girls, using it as a pretext for trouble.”

The witcher apprentice was aware of this. Just a few nights ago, after emerging from the sewers, he’d seen drunken men harassing women, and it was the Ram Gang who stepped in to deal with them. So there was more to it than met the eye.

“Tsk... As far as I know, in situations like this, the city guard should be able to intervene, especially given your relationship with Mr. Vincent...” Victor left it at that. As Gryphilin had once said, if you stayed around long enough, you learned things. For instance, Madame Carmen of Yearning for Thighs—her boyfriend and protector was none other than Captain Vincent Mays of the city guard.

The pairing sounded odd at first, but it was nevertheless true. Ever since she’d been with the captain, Carmen had stopped taking clients herself, so at the very least, Captain Vincent was not one to tolerate being cuckolded.

“There are some powerful forces backing the Salamander Gang. The latest word to the city guard is to avoid letting any one gang—that is, the Ram Gang—become too dominant. Letting these unsavory elements fight among themselves makes them easier to control.”

Victor could scarcely imagine what kind of fool would come up with such an idea. Worse still, that such foolishness would be heeded. The city guard had overwhelming power over any underworld group; there was simply no risk of any gang spiraling out of control in Vizima.

Whoever proposed this so-called “balance” clearly cared nothing for the city’s security or economy. Victor reasonably suspected those higher-ups supporting the Salamander Gang had ulterior motives. But he saw no need to mention such thoughts to Carmen.

“So, what are you asking, Madame?”

“I was thinking—if, when the Salamander’s men disguise themselves as drunkards and harass my girls, there could be someone else, also drunk, who’d show up and beat them soundly—someone who isn’t part of the Ram Gang, just a passerby—wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

Victor closed his eyes and considered. He disliked the Salamander Gang’s ruthless methods—bullying vulnerable women was wrong. And, truth be told, he felt more of a connection to Madame Carmen than to Lansmit; after all, he’d come here often during the ghoul incident, and they’d met several times. It was Carmen who’d been the first to applaud during the “Iron Fist” affair...

He was about to agree, when suddenly an exhilarating thought flashed through his mind—so entertaining it instantly changed his decision.

Looking up at the ceiling as if addressing the air, Victor said, “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can help. It still goes against the witcher’s code of neutrality. But I believe that sooner or later, someone in this city will rise up for justice and see that the Salamander Gang pays for involving the innocent.”

Rejected, Carmen’s eyes showed a trace of disappointment, though it was hardly unexpected. She tossed her wavy hair and replied softly, “Very well. I hope you’re right.”

...

Night. In Victor’s alchemy lab, Angoulême arranged her leather armor and clothing on a stand near the cauldron, just as Victor instructed, so he could see them clearly.

“Captain, is this all right? What are you up to this time?”

Victor produced a large stack of leather and some black dye.

After his massage, he’d left Yearning for Thighs. As he departed, his keen ears caught, from far off, Dandelion’s voice as he performed—playing the victim, it seemed. Adults had their own ways of handling things, so the boy had left the poet to his art.

He’d detoured to the market’s leather merchant, buying a heap of odds and ends, and now he tossed all the leather scraps into the cauldron, poured in the black dye, added saltpeter and flour, and finally plunged in the stirring rod with gusto.

Thanks to the lady’s massage, Victor was feeling completely revitalized. Outwardly, he’d refused Madame Carmen’s request, but in truth, he’d thought of a much more amusing and satisfying way to deal with things—and was determined to carry it out.

Noticing that Victor gave her no answer, but instead just grinned and stirred the cauldron, Angoulême was filled with a sense of impending doom. The captain was clearly about to do something foolish again.

His peculiar sense of humor, born east of Zerrikania in the town of Bell, was, in her plain understanding, synonymous with foolish deeds and words.