We were hushed into a private room deep inside the underground brothel, it wasn't that spacious, but sure was larger than the average chamber of escorts and patrons doing their one-on-one bidding.
The walls curved inward slightly, carved from the same pale sandstone as the restaurant above, with a single hanging lantern swung gently overhead, its light filtered through stained glass in red and gold, casting the whole room in a warm though quite uneven glow.
Against the back wall, a beaded curtain half-hid a smaller alcove stocked with bottles of wine, crystal cups, and a platter of sliced fruit on ice, absurdly luxurious in this climate, so we know for sure this room was well-prepared for this Sarah woman.
The air smelled faintly of sandalwood and rosewater, and under it was something muskier like perfume.
