Saya and the Dragon

Lombasa’s dockside brothel looked like it had been assembled out of shipwreck leftovers and bad decisions.

Two floors. Crooked balcony. Lanterns hung low behind red cloth that had seen better decades. The whole place smelled like brine, cheap perfume, and resignation.

One of only two brothels in town, which told you everything you needed to know about market competition this far north.

I pushed through the bead curtain, cloak still on, jar tucked under my arm like contraband royalty.

The reaction was immediate.

Girls—if you could even call them that, half-starved little things in threadbare wraps—peeked from behind curtains, doorframes, stair rails. Eyes big. Shoulders hunched. Most vanished the moment they saw me walk in like I owned the place.

Which, to be fair, I sort of did. Spiritually.

Madam emerged from the back like a ship’s figurehead carved out of stubbornness.

Big woman. Sun-leather skin. Hair piled high and stabbed through with bone pins. Her robe was silk once, now more memory than fabric. She looked me up and down like I was either profit or trouble.

Possibly both.

“You lost, sweetheart?” she asked.

I set the jar on the table between us.

“I’m here to future-proof your business.”

She blinked.

Slowly.

Then looked down at the frogs.

Then back at me.

“…You selling bait?”

“Vision enhancement amphibians,” I corrected. “Premium grade. Jungle origin. Lick-activated.”

She stared another full three seconds, deciding whether to laugh or throw me out.

I popped the lid just enough for one neon-blue frog to blink at her.

Her expression shifted. Slightly.

Interest.

I leaned in, lowering my voice like we were discussing state secrets.

“Imagine this,” I said. “Client pays for a standard session. Fine. Boring. Sweaty. Now imagine you upsell.”

She folded her arms but didn’t interrupt.

“‘Exotic experience,’ you tell him. ‘Temple visions. Divine colors. Heightened sensations.’ One lick. Tiny one. Suddenly he thinks your girl has six arms and a halo.”

One of the scruffy girls behind the curtain gasped quietly.

Madam’s brow creased. “Drugging clients gets messy.”

“Not drugging,” I said smoothly. “Curating.”

I lifted the jar, letting lantern light dance through the frogs’ skins. They glowed like gemstones in sin.

“These are rare this far north. You can charge triple for novelty alone. Sailors, merchants, bored nobles passing through—everyone wants a story to take home.”

She stepped closer now, curiosity winning.

“Safe?” she asked.

I considered that.

“Safe-adjacent.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Short visions. No lasting damage. Unless someone licks five in a row, which is frankly a commitment issue.”

One of the girls snorted before quickly covering her mouth.

Madam crouched, studying them. “And how do I know they work?”

I smiled.

“Because I personally tested the batch.”

She looked me dead in the eye. “You licked frogs for quality assurance.”

“Professional pride.”

Long silence.

Then—unexpectedly—she barked a laugh.

Rough. Dockside. Appreciative.

“Gods,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re either a genius or the worst businesswoman I’ve ever met.”

“Why not both.”

She straightened, gaze turning calculating now. “Price.”

I named a number high enough to make her whistle but low enough not to scare her off.

She paced once. Twice. Did the math in her head—clients per night, upsell margins, novelty draw.

Finally she stopped.

“I’ll take two.”

I slid the jar back protectively. “One.”

Her eyes flashed.

“Scarcity drives demand,” I said sweetly. “You’ll make more money advertising the last one than selling five.”

She stared at me a long moment.

Then slowly grinned.

“You’ve done this before.”

“Oh, honey,” I said, pocketing her coin. “I built my entire career on selling fantasy upgrades.”

As I left, cloak swishing, I heard her already barking orders behind me:

“Girls! Bath water! Lantern polish! We’re introducing a premium tier!”

I smiled as I stept out into the street.

Frog business was booming.

The rival brothel across the street tried harder.

You could tell immediately.

Fresh paint over old rot. Lanterns with colored glass instead of dyed cloth. Girls with actual meat on their bones instead of wind-rattled ribs. Still dockside—still rough—but aspiring to class the way a drunk aspires to dignity.

I walked in cloak-first again, jar tucked under my arm like contraband royalty making the rounds.

This Madam was slimmer. Sharper. Eyes like fishhooks. Hair oiled and coiled into something architectural. She watched me the whole time I crossed the room.

“You’re the frog girl,” she said without greeting.

“Vision enhancement consultant,” I corrected.

She didn’t smile. Just circled the jar like it might bite.

“And these are supposed to… what? Improve business?”

“Transform it,” I said smoothly. “Premium tier experiences. Hallucinatory enhancement. Clients remember the night forever.”

She leaned closer to the glass. One lime-green frog blinked at her.

“…I wanna lick one.”

I blinked back.

“Well that’s—direct.”

She reached for the lid.

I slapped her hand lightly. “Inventory demonstrations require payment.”

Her eyes narrowed. Then she waved dismissively toward the curtain.

“Not me. One of the girls.”

A skinny little thing was shoved forward almost immediately. Bare feet. Shaking hands. Looked like she expected to be fed to something.

She stared at the frog like it was a holy relic and a death sentence.

“Does… does the frog turn into a prince?” she asked quietly.

I snorted. “No such luck, sister. You lick it, not marry it.”

Madam held the frog steady while the girl leaned in, trembling.

Quick touch of tongue.

Barely a kiss.

The effect was immediate.

Her pupils blew wide. She swayed where she stood.

“Oh,” she breathed.

Madam’s grip tightened on her shoulders. “Well?”

The girl blinked slowly, smiling at nothing. “Everything feels… soft. Like I’m wrapped in warm silk.”

She reached out, touching the air. “The lanterns are… singing.”

Madam glanced at me, unimpressed.

“Could be nerves.”

The girl giggled suddenly. “My toes feel like they’re floating. Is that normal?”

She sank onto a cushion, dreamy and harmlessly dazed.

Madam folded her arms. “Not convinced.”

So I changed tactics.

Leaned in close.

Lower voice. Business voice.

“Look,” I said, tapping the jar. “I just sold three to your competitor across the street.”

Her eyes flicked up instantly.

Hook set.

“They’re already setting up a premium room,” I continued casually. “Exotic visions. Triple pricing. Sailors love novelty. Nobles love exclusivity. You know how this works.”

Silence stretched.

Across the room, the frog-licked girl was still describing colors that didn’t exist and trying to pet the curtain.

Madam’s jaw worked slowly.

“You’re bluffing.”

I shrugged. “Go ask her yourself. But by the time you get back, I might’ve sold the rest.”

She stared at the jar again.

Scarcity. Competition. Profit margin.

You could practically see the math grinding behind her eyes.

Finally:

“…How many left?”

I smiled beneath the hood.

“Not enough for both of you.”