The staircase seemed endless. Thomas was being dragged upstairs, roughly hoisted by his armpits, his legs trailing limply along the carpet runners; his head splitting with every step. The residual effect of the drug they had used to knock him out in the alley sapped his strength, turning his body into a disobedient weight.
They passed the second floor and went up to the third. They threw open the doors to the "Blue Room" and led Thomas inside.
The room was similar to the one he had woken up in, only in a different color.
Following them, closing the door behind him, slipped a tall, thin man with a valise in his hands.
"Lift him up and strip him," he said, placing the valise on a small table. "The Madam ordered a full examination. That Crow drags merchandise off the streets; we need to make sure this one has no surprises in the form of skin diseases or crude tattoos."
One of the bouncers stepped toward Thomas, pulling out a knife to cut the straps on his wrists.
As soon as the bonds fell away, his arms dropped limply to his sides. When the bouncer reached for his shirt collar, Thomas recoiled sharply and struck the man in the jaw with a backhand punch. But the blow came out glancing and weak. The brute merely shook his head, and a sinister smirk appeared on his face.
"Little bastard. Still kicking."
He couldn't hit back; the Madam would skin him alive later if he damaged the merchandise. So he only feigned a vicious swing. Thomas didn't flinch.
"Don't touch me!" Thomas wheezed as the second bouncer grabbed him from behind, twisting his arms and forcing him to arch his back.
Weakness fettered his movements, turning his resistance into pathetic attempts to break free.
"Hold him tighter," the manager tossed out.
They tore the remains of the cloak off him. The fabric of his doublet and shirt tore under rough fingers; buttons flew across the floor with a clatter. Thomas gasped with humiliation and fury, feeling the cold air of the room against his skin. His boots and trousers were pulled off next.
He was thrown onto the carpet, completely naked, trembling either from the cold or from impotent anger, and immediately pinned to the floor.
The manager stepped closer. His keen eyes scanned the body, then he turned him onto his side, then onto his back, unceremoniously spreading his arms. Thomas turned his face away, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw cramped.
"Amazing," the man said, running his fingers over his shoulder blades and back. "His skin is clear as marble. Only a couple of old, faded bruises on his ribs, but that's nothing..."
Thomas squeezed his eyes shut.
The man pulled a small bottle of liquid from his valise. One of the bouncers leaned his massive weight onto Thomas's chest, pinning him to the carpet, while with the fingers of his other hand he painfully squeezed his jaw, forcing his mouth open.
Thomas clamped his teeth together, shaking his head desperately.
"Swallow," the bouncer growled, roughly pinching his nose.
The manager leaned in and poured a bitter liquid directly into his mouth. The young man tried to spit it out, coughing and gagging, but instinct took over — he swallowed convulsively.
The grip on his jaw instantly loosened. Thomas broke into a coughing fit, gasping for air.
His body was wiped down with damp cloths, then he was jerked up and thrown onto a large bed covered in blue silk. The sheets slid against his bare skin, sending a chill through him.
The light in the room dimmed, the door slammed shut, followed by the clank of the lock, cutting him off from the world. Thomas was left alone. He lunged forward, but the potion had already begun to take effect. His body grew heavy, and exhaustion overcame him. The room began to spin before his eyes, the furnishings started to blur, his consciousness plunged into a fog and oblivion, and in his fading mind, only one word throbbed:
Anastas...