The Kijo of Red Alley

In the dusking years of the Pre-Unity Era, the Empire of Keikaji suffered hardships one upon another. The sky wept as the Water Serpent mourned for the Wind, whilst the Emperor struck a violent schism between his people and the changelings with purpose unknown.

In here was a moment, between these crises and the next, that joy still burned in the kirin heart. It kindled most of all in their city above the sky, Ame-no-Mihashira. Or to pony tongues, Heaven-on-High.

They were such foreboding times that the kirin sought ways to escape and indulge in fantasy. Theatre was the most favored amongst both rich and poor, chiefly kabuki plays; the wild and eccentric telling of past legends and current struggles had survived countless regulations through its popularity alone. There likewise burgeoned a hidden side of the theatre, only spake of on pipe-smoke or under snuffed lanterns—the selling of more intimate pleasures, much to the distaste of stuffy lords. But amid the theatre folk it was embraced as the shadow of their lives.

Out of shadow and in the daylight, a kabuki actor of especial renown strode along the streets of the upper business district—this time, recognized by no one. From this anonymous kirin hung expensive flower-print silks which swished around sandals like fog on water. Smoke crept from a kiseru pipe and sometimes from a pair of rosy lips. It was the actor’s latest conception: the grand courtesan. This courtesan would, on lax days, dress up and waltz through the city to give her people a show. A show, yes, and that was all—so might the gods pity whoever made it more than that.

* * *

It had to be accepted in this era that the earth ponies, pegasi, and unicorns would not find peace with one another, but they were allowed within the borders of the Keikaji Empire if they did not bring their pony-quarrel with them. And indeed, there were a fair number of pony foreigners to visit Heaven-on-High, all for business and study, all of them wealthy to some degree, for the journey east was long and hard for the ponies.

Swiftwater was there because of his wealthy blood, not by choice. He was born in the cloudcity Hyapolis, where he lived a privileged rearing in a family who designed airships. He never liked ships, despite his father’s needling. When he was twelve years old, his parents dragged him across the world to Keikaji on the idea of building relations between pegasi and kirin, and strengthening occident-orient travel. They did fine for themselves, and three years later, they felt rich enough to move to the mountaintop capital Heaven-on-High, where the three of them all stayed in a house in the foreigner district.

There was a great score of huffing and moaning in the new house ere Swiftwater was eventually, carefully allowed to go out alone. “But the city is dangerous,” his mother would warn, “especially to rich foreigners like us who haven’t gotten wise.”

Swiftwater thought that sounded distrustful of the natives. He thought the same thing when they said that about the earth ponies, too.

He felt wise. He was becoming a strapping young stallion, and living in Keikaji for three years had learned him enough of its tongue to speak very well for himself. He showed this off with a high-chinned façade of confidence as he strolled through the upper business district. He believed this façade worked, even whilst he occasionally gawked or got lost.

One question bore heft in his mind and in the satchel neath his wing: what could his allowance buy here?

He felt both light and leaden by his new freedom. Even if one were a native, Heaven-on-High was as head-spinning as it was beautiful. Sometimes Swiftwater bumped into monks who traced their daily routes; important kirin flashing past him in their formal kimonos; he shivered as he met eyes with menacing police-guards, bushi with scars over their muzzles. But above them all, one figure stood. A figure no-one dared ignore. Murmurs gathered in her wake, for she could even pull the attention of a flagellant monk—who hurried on in shame.

The way she moved captivated Swiftwater, too—made him lift his eyebrows and his posture. Peering across the street, he could follow the wag of a mare’s hips and tail, clear even beneath a glistening rainbow of silks. Her fur was light like fresh birchwood, and the scales on her face like dark earth. Her mane, to him, resembled the soft squishy mochi at the markets, or puffy clouds. She demanded attention from within her circle of silence, and drew wisp from her thin kiseru too gracefully for it to be called smoking. No doubt—she gave...“that” for money. She was a courtesan. Swiftwater’s mother had said dark, nasty things about courtesans; whoring scum. But this one certainly didn’t look scum.

He remembered the weight of his satchel of Keikajin coin. Its contents were his and his alone. The thought picked at him again: what could a rich young stallion’s money really buy?

Torn from his pondering, his heart leapt at what he saw: a kirin male, probably drunk, waddled close to the grand courtesan and hiked up the hind quarter of her yukata. There was not a moment afore a flurry of silk, beautiful like a dancer, then a swift and violent swipe from the lady’s hoof. The male shrieked and stumbled away from this invisible attack, limping past Swiftwater and spitting, clutching his breast where blood dribbled between the cloves of his hoof.

Swift’s eyes darted back to the courtesan. She had resumed her walk as if nothing had happened. The colt shivered. He knew that disputes were oft settled by blade in Keikaji, but now he truly believed it.

He swallowed a lump and breathed for the first time in a minute. Confidence...that air of confidence he’d stridden out the front door with, he was going to reclaim it. He was an adult and he would prove it—no, he was better than adults, especially that horrible drunkard just now. He’d defy all the onlookers and follow the courtesan, observing from afar like a play, and he the audience. None but he would have the courage.

A quarter hour or more was spent tailing her from a building’s breadth. She never turned around, only fired her gaze at males before her who flinched away. Even the bushi dipped their straw hats and shuffled to the side of the road. Eventually, she and Swiftwater ended up near the lower end of the business district where it met with pettier commerce. He recognized the stately Suijin-za theatre house (closed today) right where the courtesan bent her steps around a corner. He followed her in. She rounded another, deeper corner, plunging Swiftwater into unfamiliarity. His jaw tensed as he followed her in there too. Then he froze.

The narrowing, blackening alleyway was invisible to the sun and lit only by the red glow of paper lanterns strung above. Groups of kirin, mostly female, smoked and waited outside buildings that looked like businesses but didn’t have signs. The stifling smell of smoke was background noise here. It was impossible for something like this to lie right under his and his parents’ noses.

He knew what the red lights meant. His parents drilled into him to avoid such areas, that they were rife with scum and disease and the shame of society. But then, this courtesan clearly wasn’t scum; she dressed better than a lady or probably even the Emperor, so why would she go down here? And if she was going down here, maybe...maybe money could buy her?

It occurred to him that his brain wasn’t doing all the thinking.

The kirin girls in colorful dress gave him curious looks. They also sneered and rolled eyes at the courtesan—maybe, Swiftwater thought, because they looked lesser next to her. His thoughts winked out of existence as the courtesan stopped under an awning, forcing him to dig his hoof into the cobbles to halt. He couldn’t turn back now, he knew, or he’d look a fool. His heart drummed in his ears. Now or never. Gods be with him, now or never. He cleared his throat.

“Good after——”

It cracked. Suffering. Hell. Shite, gods and Hell and everything, his voice cracked. His fur and feathers should’ve turned from yellow to red for all the burning he felt. He coughed suddenly, praying it cover his botch.

“—Afternoon, madame. I...hope your schedule isn’t packed too full.” A smile of confidence covered up his embarrassment. It was fake confidence now. It always was.

The courtesan swished around with perfect grace that struck a chill down the colt’s spine—aye, colt. He was no longer an adult before her. She took a long draw of smoke and let it seep from the corners of her lips, flowing around her outward-curved fangs. Her hard eyes bore just enough interest to speak down at him.

“Schedule?” she sighed in response. Hers was low and husky for a mare’s voice but laced with pomp and superiority. “Is the one you see before you a teller of the bank? Or mayhap a realtor?”

He had been critical of his opening even as it left his mouth. Now he was screaming inside. Bad idea. Awful, awful idea. He shook his head with his idiotic smile still plastered on. “Of course not. I was only hoping you didn’t have any other...obligations above the possibility of us spending time together, should that interest you...?”

“Mmm. Obligations,” she hissed over smoke whilst narrowing her gaze. With the courtesan’s almighty glare; the smoke bleeding past her teeth; the crimson light splashed across her face, she now more reminded him of something he’d seen viciously portrayed in Keikajin art: a demon from the depths of Hell.

“And who or what obligates I to spend time with this mere boy in my presence?”

“N-Not I...nor anyone else, madame! Of course, all’s of your own accord and for your benefit, that is...I wouldn’t dream of a proposition not worth your while, financially, or other...wise...”

“Quiet.” The demon-glow shifted startlingly across her visage as she leaned down to his level—and blew acrid smoke in his face, forcing him to suffocate and squint. “Mm. You are a young but handsome boy, even for a foreigner, and not a smart one. Did your parents tell you what I am?”

“N-No,” he choked, “they didn’t. Well, not you in specific...but...”

Words were gravel in his mouth. His wings suddenly atrophied, for he couldn’t move them, let alone flit away. Instead only silent stillness blanketed the alley. She stared at him, unblinking, far past the point of discomfort and into nightmare.

“Hold out your tongue so I may extinguish my pipe on it.”

He almost gagged. Did he understand her right? No—surely this was a metaphor, or something symbolic. But every instinct in his body shouted OBEY HER. Or else what? Would he be thrown off the city? Or cut down like that drunk? Would he be killed? The voice was screaming not just from his brain but from between his hind legs; following her from behind had made his sex so stiff that it slapped his belly. It hurt. Everything hurt. He opened his mouth and stuck out his quivering tongue. Frightening silence gripped him. His heart stopped beating and he braced for the searing bitter pain and he prayed. His tongue sensed her breath. She was so close, until...

She leaned away and threw back her head in laughter. “Gods! You did it! You really did! Oh, you’re hopeless! You were ready to—to simply—” She cackled some more like a rumoring wench.

Swift’s face contorted in horror and embarrassment and he shrunk into his withers, tongue still present, still in disbelief and staring up through hot tears at the laughing courtesan—who reached out with her free hoof and used her ankle to push his tongue back in.

“I simply couldn’t pass the opportunity, boy. I noted you tailing me for a few roads and I decided to be a little cruel. I suppose I shall apologize. You don’t know a thing about yūkaku etiquette, do you?”

Swallowing another lump, he shook his head. “I’m afraid n-not, madame. No. I’m sorry. This is my first time in one of...those.”

“Yes, I’ve got eyes. Now since you’re young and stupid, and I’m actually nicer than those other whores, I’ll admit you the truth: I only wander about in this get-up to watch old farts stumble over themselves, and couples steam at each other because they got caught staring. I would never honestly show myself off like some common bitch.” She waved off smoke and chuckled pretentiously. “I get my clientele in a far more discrete manner. You aren’t seriously searching for business, are you?”

“I...um...I was, yes.”

She moved suddenly to make him flinch—grabbed his ear and tilted his head, inspected him like livestock, all the while frowning and rolling her tongue around in her mouth. Finally she breathed through her teeth and sighed.

“I wasn’t doing business today, but you look like a fish strung up by the gills. If you went down this alley with anyone but me you’d have your insides torn out—literally, if you’re lucky. I’ll humor you. But unlike the cheap holes you walked past, you pay for a luxury experience. And you aren’t quite handsome enough for a discount.” A wry smile flashed. “But you are within my inflexible standards.”

To be called stupid, hopeless, not handsome enough; being laughed at, it was shocking. All his life he’d been showered in praise, and here was this mare looking down at him in pity. And for some disgusting reason, it never got any less stiff down there.

“Have you got ears, boy? Was I clear when I called myself luxury? You’ll show me money, or you can face about and head right back down the alley.”

He snapped to attention. “Oh—! Money is no issue, madame! I never came expecting cheap service. I’m more than able to pay...whatever it is you charge, I promise!”

“One hundred billion,” she grinned. “If you’re such a wealthy little foreigner boy, why shouldn’t I take all your money?”

He hesitated to croak a nervous laugh. It appeased the kirin, who showed him a chuckle for seeing her joke.

“So be it. Since you clearly don’t know what you want, you can think about it on the way, then pay. See how nice I am? Come along, boy.” She dumped her kiseru’s ashes to the street, then ground them neath her sandal. Swiftwater shared bitter empathy with them.