Red-Light District

By Roger's standards, this so-called den of luxury was truly far too shabby.

Yet most homes in Brodick were nothing more than ordinary timber-framed, mud-plastered thatched huts, with straw spread across the ground, a hearth in the middle, and a few homemade pieces of furniture.

A barrel and a few benches made a tavern; put a bed in the corner and hang a curtain outside, and it became a brothel; cram a noisy crowd around a table, and it made a dice game.

In a place like this, the Red Mill was an undisputed palace of extravagance.

Before they had even entered, waves of moans drifted down from the Red Mill's second floor. The bald man in green immediately looked disappointed. "Young Master Roger, we came at the wrong time. It's the wool market today. Any prostitute in the Red Mill with even a little beauty must have been picked clean by those merchants. The ones left are ugly wares who cost half a penny a night. You definitely won't fancy them."

"Not necessarily. Your young master has changed his ways now, and my tastes have changed quite a bit too." Roger tugged at his belt, a faint smile appearing on his face.

"Tie up the donkey and come in with me." Roger took the lead and stepped into the Red Mill.

Though he said that, Roger had no intention of fooling around in the Red Mill.

It had nothing to do with morality. In his previous life, Roger had lived amid neon lights and wine, and he had ridden plenty of Western horses. This sort of thing had never risen to a matter of morals. What concerned him was merely the horrifying sanitation of this era. Having been lucky enough to live two lives, he had no wish to die between their thighs.

The moment he pushed open the door, a rotten stench of wine and meat mixed with food scraps, animal dung, and heavy body odor rushed into his face, nearly knocking Roger off his feet.

The first-floor hall was rather spacious. A fireplace was set into the wall directly ahead, flames already flickering within it.

Five or six long wooden tables and several rows of low stools stood in the middle of the hall. Earthenware jugs for wine, plates for food, and unlit candlesticks sat atop the tables, while drinkers had already filled the seats around them.

Several scantily clad female attendants weaved through the crowd, refilling wine and serving food, letting out exaggerated cries whenever customers took liberties with them.

On the left side of the hall stood the wine cabinet and cash counter, much like the bar counter of a later-day tavern. A gaunt old man was calculating accounts in front of the wine cabinet.

To the right of the wine cabinet, two bards turned their hurdy-gurdies, producing music that was far from pleasant as they softly sang bawdy folk songs. In a corner nearby, a drunkard hugged a full-bodied attendant, thrusting his hand into her bodice and kneading without pause, drawing bursts of coquettish laughter from her.

On the right side of the hall was the staircase leading to the second floor. Beneath it, two waist-high wooden partitions enclosed a "private seating area." Compared with the crowded, clamorous hall, this corner was quite secluded.

Looking up, Roger saw certain parts of the wooden ceiling vibrating rhythmically, with dust occasionally shaking loose.

The room was so noisy that no one noticed their arrival. Roger swept his gaze around, then raised a hand and pointed toward the "private seating area," where five merchant-like men were already seated.

The bald man in green understood at once. Leading the bruised ponytailed man, he strode over to the group and loudly ordered them to make room.

Those men had only recently arrived. Having heard that the Red Mill on Allen Island was a paradise of bliss, they had stayed behind together after finishing their wool trade.

Since they were newcomers, they naturally had never seen the green-clad thugs and knew nothing of Roger's foul reputation. Relying on their numbers and drunken courage, they immediately began trading insults with the two men in green. It looked as if blows would be exchanged any moment.

Seeing his side was outnumbered, Gray Rat, who had been following Roger, hurriedly joined the fray as well. In an instant, curses rose throughout the "private seating area," and seven or eight men shoved one another back and forth.

Just as both sides were about to come to blows, Roger stepped forward, preparing to steady the scene.

"Oh my, no wonder it's so lively. Young Master Roger has arrived." A sickeningly sweet voice drifted down from the stairs.

The men shoving one another immediately stopped.

Roger looked up. A gorgeously dressed woman with a seductive figure was descending the stairs, one hand resting on the railing. Her features were lovely, her skin soft and smooth, and she wore only a light touch of powder, making her exceptionally bewitching. But upon closer inspection, clarity shone through those eyes filled with worldly dust, as though she could see through everything beneath heaven.

Seeing that the person in charge of the mill had come down in person, the bald man in green hurried over with a fawning smile and explanation, his tone immediately dropping several degrees. "Lady Kate, these lowly merchants dared to disrespect Young Master Roger and refused to give up their seats. That is why we had a small dispute. We absolutely did not intend to cause trouble."

Roger racked his mind, but he seemed to have little impression of this weathered, middle-aged woman.

In truth, the woman called Lady Kate held considerable standing on Allen Island. She was the manager of this Red Mill. Originally the most popular attendant in a Glasgow brothel, she had been invited to the island five years ago by Roger's uncle, Baron John, to run the Red Mill.

Rumor had it that she was Baron John's mistress. There was no need to guess; nine times out of ten, it was true.

Lady Kate did not even spare the bald man in green a glance. She walked straight up to Roger, raised a hand to stroke the scar on his forehead, then pressed her fingers against his chest muscles. "They say Young Master Roger of the Colin family took a trip through hell. Looking at you now, you seem even sturdier than before."

As she spoke, she wore a lewd smile and reached her soft, smooth hand toward Roger's crotch.

Roger was utterly baffled and instinctively retreated half a step.

"Oh? What's wrong with Young Master Roger? You don't look like you did last month, when you took advantage of me." She let out a chillingly seductive laugh.

The merchants who had been arguing burst into laughter, but no one else in the hall dared make a sound.

A town merchant who seemed to have business dealings with the travelers took advantage of Lady Kate keeping Roger occupied. He hurried over to the merchants, pointed at Roger, and anxiously muttered a few words under his breath.

Before long, the merchants reluctantly gathered their wine and tableware, leaving the "private seating area" and squeezing into the crowd at the long tables in the hall.

Only after Roger struggled to recall did he finally remember that, on the first night "he" had returned to the island after being driven out of Argyll Abbey last month, he had spent the night carousing here.

However, Roger possessed only a few blurry fragments from after heavy drinking, too scattered to form a complete sequence.

Having teased him enough, the bewitching woman regained a serious expression. "Young Master Roger, the Red Mill is, after all, part of your Campbell Lineage's territory. You should not break your own family's rules, or I will have a hard time explaining things to Baron John."

Seeing Roger still looking bewildered, Lady Kate made it plain. "The last time you came here and raised hell all night, you left five and a half pennies unpaid on your wine tab."

Roger suddenly remembered that "half-penny." Looking around, he saw her standing not far behind Lady Kate, holding a tray in her arms while pressing her enormous breasts together. She was casting him bashful, seductive glances, the tiny black mole at the corner of her lips seeming to dance playfully.

With a shudder, he also remembered that he really had taken quite a few liberties with this middle-aged woman while drunk that night.

Ahem, ahem.

Roger coughed twice, driving those inappropriate images from his mind. Briskly, he reached into the hidden pocket in his sleeve, took out a handful of silver pennies, and slapped them onto the long table beside him. There had to be at least twelve or thirteen coins.

"Use all the rest for beer and good food. I'm treating my men to a night of getting thoroughly drunk." With that, he stopped tangling with the middle-aged woman and walked over to take the seat of honor in the "private seating area."

Lady Kate was somewhat surprised. This was not the lustful young master who had "committed every wicked deed" in the Red Mill last month.

"Did he really smash his brains?" Lady Kate muttered to herself. Disappointed, she scooped up the silver pennies and tossed them to the "half-penny" attendant beside her, telling her to take them to the counter and enter them into the accounts.

The other diners in the hall also returned to their drinking and merrymaking.