---General William Booth: In Darkest England and The Way Out (1890)

"Michael ..." Janus murmured.

His breath caught as Michael slammed his fist onto the stand. "Janus," said Michael in a flat voice that seemed oddly dissonant with his violence, "we need to admit that this isn't working. The patrons aren't interested in coming to a pleasure house where they're not allowed to blatantly mistreat the boys. They don't like the fact that we have no assistants or servants, so we must stay closed for half the hours of each day. They don't like being told that they must wear sheaths or that they can't keep drilling their whammers into the boys if the boys begin to cry. Above all, they don't like coming to a place that's run by a commoner who was once a whore."

"You're wrong about that," Janus said quickly. "Michael, you were the most famous prostitute of your time -- your name draws patrons here ..."

"Your name is what draws them here. They come here because they know that this house is financially backed by Lord Roe's nephew, which gives this place a certain veneer of respectability. And then they come through the front door, and what do they see? A termite-eaten mansion that's falling to bits because we can't afford to renovate it, boys who are only semi-trained because you and I spend most of our time trying to figure out how to pay for the winter fuel, and a doorkeeper who's about to die of the Damnation because his workmaster waited two entire years before bothering to pay a healer to look at him!" His voice ended on a raised note, as though he had just remembered the sounds that should accompany his fury.

Janus let out his breath slowly. His own anger forgotten, he began to place his hand over where his friend's hand gripped the edge of the speaker's stand as though it were a weapon. Then a faint memory of the womanish theatrical player stopped him. Michael did not appear to notice the aborted gesture. He was staring into space with a blank look that was more terrible than thunder.

"Michael," Janus said softly, "you can't blame yourself for that. You tried over and over to make the city healer inspect Lann, even though the boy doesn't work as a prostitute for us. And it wouldn't have made any difference if we'd learned about this when Lann first arrived here, two years ago. There's no cure for the Damnation."

"There may be one now." Michael continued to stare expressionlessly into space. "And I can't afford to pay for the drug to cure him. I may not even have enough money to put food into the mouths of our boys next month."

Janus sighed as he stepped back out of reach. "I'll see whether I can persuade my father to loan us the money."

"You've tried that before. You'll have no more success this time than in the past -- your father thinks that any suffering which whores undergo is well-deserved for their immoral acts."

"I'll go to my uncle, then."

"Your uncle is doing his best, through his legislation, to get places like this shut down. Do you really think he'd risk letting a rumor spread that he'd given money to a house of boys?"

"This is a house for boys."

"It's no different from the other pleasure houses in the eyes of the world. You know that."

Janus felt his fists begin to clench again. "There must be a solution!"

He looked over at Michael. The other young man had regained his expression; he was frowning down at the ledger, his brow creased.

Janus said slowly, "You've already thought of something."

"You won't like it."

"I'd be willing to consider anything at this point -- provided that you don't increase the boys' hours," he added hastily. "They work too long each day as it is."

"No," said Michael, "I wasn't considering anything that involved selling the boys."

Through the silence that ensued, Janus heard the roar of a man's voice, followed by a chorus of laughter in the courtyard, not only from the boys, but from patrons who had overheard what had taken place and were amused by the outcome. Two minutes later the front door slammed, and Janus, turning to look out the window, caught sight of Benson's face, twisted with rage. The man paused only long enough to hastily button several parts of his clothing that were hanging loose. Then he made his way down the porch stairs and out of sight, muttering loudly as he went. Janus thought he heard Benson say something about making sure this place was shut down for false marketing.

Janus finally found his voice again and said, "You can't do that." When Michael did not reply, he repeated in a louder voice, "You can't do that!"

"Janus," said Michael in his patient voice, "I am, as you say, the most famous whore of my time. Your eyes would goggle if you knew how much men used to pay for me. How much more do you think someone would pay if I came briefly out of retirement to give a repeat performance?"

Janus tightened his lips before saying, "Don't be short-sighted, Michael. You're right that being a former prostitute has made it difficult for patrons to trust that you run a high-class pleasure house. You've only managed this feat because you've always presented yourself as something close to a gentleman. How can you even consider throwing away your reputation?"

"It would only be with one man---"

"Who would tell the rest of the city what you'd done. You know that, Michael. If you submitted yourself to another man, no one in the capital would be able to resist telling all of his friends---"

"I was never the one who submitted." Michael's voice was cool. "I defied convention, even back then."

"That was when you were a boy. It may have amused your old patrons to play that you were in charge, but everyone knew that you weren't -- you were a powerless boy, unable to prevent any man from raping you if he truly wanted to." He paused, but Michael did not contradict his statement. Michael could not contradict his statement, they both knew. Janus continued, "Now you're a man, and if you go to bed with another man, one of you must truly submit to the other. No man of sense would willingly admit that he has submitted to a grown man, so if the patron gossips about you, he'll tell the world that you submitted to him. Whether or not it's true, the world will believe it. It makes a good story: Michael the Whore finally bested by one of his betters."

Janus's voice had turned bitter; he could imagine his own parents spreading such a tale, triumphant that the corrupt youth whom their only child had befriended had finally received his comeuppance.