Archer's Lane Case 01 Ch. 01

1

"Wanted: Typist and editor in full time employment. Perfect English and German language skills are a requirement, both in writing and speech. Room and board may be provided. If interested, respond to this paper under No 434/23"

Eliza put down the Anzeiger and circled the ad with a pencil. If this was what it sounded like, it might be the best offer she had found ever since she came to the Reich. Work and lodging -- both of which she needed desperately. Her savings were long used up and she was behind on her rent for longer than she dared to count.

"Dear advertiser," her letter began. "My name is Eliza Spur. I'm of British origin and English is my mother tongue. After the war I came to the German Reich as translator, mainly in Köln and Frankfurt, and worked as such for the Royal British Embassy.

I can type fast and flawless, and am able to write and translate any text in German and English. My needs are modest and I am disengaged. Asking for your sympathetic reply, yours, Eliza Spur."

She was so excited she brought the letter to the paper personally. That was her chance; maybe her last one. By now, she was ready to take on any work, but many other young women were in the same situation and so every day she stood in long queues in front of soup kitchens, factories and street corners, just to earn a few Pfennings as a day labourer. And finally, one week later, when the letter arrived, at first she didn't even dare to open it.

With trembling fingers she tore open the envelope. What if it was a refusal, one of the many others? What, if it was even something completely different, an invoice, the cancellation of her apartment? With baited breath she unfolded the letter. It was handwritten and hard to read, as if someone wrote it in a big hurry, or an even bigger negligence. It read:

"15th August 1923, at Frankfurt am Main

Dear Frau Spur,

I thank you for your interest in my request. For a consultation, please come to my bureau in Frankfurt, Kaiserstraße 60, at the 20th of August.

Kathleen Schütz"

That was all. Eliza read the letter repeatedly and tried to find out something, anything, about the mysterious sender that was hidden between the lines. "Bureau" sounded formal, especially for a woman. "Consultation?" What might that be? Finally, she resigned to her fate and put the mail aside.

The few days until the appointment passed slowly, and the night before the 20th of August she barely closed an eye. Before it even got light outside, she put on her best dress and got on her way. It was cold and windy, but stayed dry, just a sharp wind blew down the streets. As Eliza couldn't afford a tram ticket anymore, she took on the cold and wind and went on foot.

The Kaiserstraße was a majestic part of town, which certainly had seen better days before the war, but still was one of the more regal streets of the city. To get there, she had to pass the opera, and the thoughts of how nice it must be to one day being able to watch a performance inside brightened her mood. Finally, when she could already see the magnificent train station at the end of the street, she stood in front of Nr. 60.

Or so she thought. After comparing the house number with the address in the letter numerous times, she came to the conclusion that her unknown correspondent must have made a mistake, because the building in front of her was fairly obviously a brothel.

Not that she had anything against brothels. Houses of pleasure certainly were not a rarity here, and for many women it was just another way of escaping bitter poverty, but Eliza herself would rather not work at such a place, she decided. With a sigh, she eyed the entrance. Even if she was wrong here, maybe the... how do you say? Dames? Maybe they could at least help her or even know the mysterious Frau Schütz.

She entered, eyed curiously by the scantily clad and shivering young things, who stood at the entrance and smoked. Inside, there was a dimly lit foyer, draped over and over with thick curtains. A red carpet dampened her steps and it was noticeably quiet, only occasionally a distant laughter made it to her ears, from somewhere inside the house. A woman with a striped corset and short, frilly skirt came out from behind one of the curtains, but when she saw that Eliza probably was not a potential client, her fake smile immediately turned into an expression that looked, as if she just had swallowed a lemon.

"Excuse me," Eliza said shyly. "I... I must have gotten the wrong address, because I'm supposed to meet a Frau..." She fished the letter from her pocket and skimmed over it again. "Frau Kathleen Schütz. Might you know where I could find her, by any chance?"

The woman tilted her head, which gave her curls a slight bounce. "Well, come along then," she finally said nonchalantly and went straight to an archway, not waiting for Eliza to follow up.

They went down a dim corridor until they reached a staircase, which led upstairs to yet another corridor. Behind the doors on each side, Eliza could hear an occasional moan or giggle, but she hurried to keep up with her leader. Finally, they stood in front of the last door on the right side, at the end of the hallway. "There you go," the woman in the corset said and then went off again.

Eliza knocked and listened for an answer, when she suddenly heard a shrill scream coming from behind the door, which was preceded by a dull slap. Then again. And again. It sounded monotonous and almost unreal, and she began to wonder if it wasn't coming from somewhere else entirely. She knocked again, louder this time. The locality was bizarre enough to make her turn tail and run, under normal circumstances, but Eliza was desperate and ready to take on almost any work, as long as she was at least permitted to keep on her clothes.

Slap. Another scream. Slap. Then silence. Eliza counted her heartbeats, when the door suddenly got opened unexpectedly and she shrieked.

The woman standing in front of her was in a strange way imposing. Her short, fire-red hair was wild and unkempt and tousled around her face in wavy strains, her deep blue eyes unflinchingly looked at Eliza, staring straight into her soul. She wore a dark green suit with a white vest underneath, which gave her a masculine figure, but couldn't hide her feminine curves completely. In the dull light she looked as pale and white as her vest, only sprinkled with some freckles.

"Frau Spur," she suddenly said calmly. "Come in."

Eliza entered a room which was filled with bookshelves. A desk occupied the largest part of the remaining space, and in a corner by the window there were two red plush chairs, where another woman was sprawled out, who was completely naked to Eliza's surprise. "Please, have a seat," her host invited her, pointing at a chair by the desk, while walking around it and letting herself fall into one herself.

"So. You're a translator and typist?" the woman asked.

"Yes," Eliza answered, nodding. "I'm supposed to see Frau Schütz..."

"That's me," the redhead interrupted her. "And let's not waste our time now, shall we? I've got a few other things that require my attention. So: You say you don't have any problems with German and English, as well as with the operation of a typewriter, and that's really all I require. Now you just need to tell me that you don't have any problems with me."

Eliza looked at her confused. "W-why? I... I don't even know..."

Kathleen bent forward and folded her arms on the desk. "My good Frau Spur," she said slowly. "I'm an author, and not a bad one. My works are esteemed and widely read, and I'm paid handsomely, for in my area of expertise, there aren't many who can do what I can. Still, you may never have heard of me before, since all I'm writing is published anonymously, or under a false name. I need your services to type a fair copy of my texts, correct any errors and translate them into English. And so you know what this is about, I'll give it to you straight: It's all pure pornography. Pure, dirty, nasty smut. Now you tell me if you have a problem with that."

Frau Schütz leaned back in her armchair and began playing with a riding crop absently, which had been laying on her desktop, while she was eyeing Eliza curiously. The translator needed a moment to take in the full meaning of her words, and then her eyes wandered from the strange young author to her similarly strange nude company. "Is... is this illegal?" she asked finally.

Kathleen raised an eyebrow. "Illegal, certainly not," she replied. "Immoral, absolutely. You may not be able to tell anyone about it, and won't earn any accolades either."

"And what will I earn?" Eliza asked coldly.

The author shrugged. "If I'm honest with you, I don't quite know. This is the first time I'm hiring someone, so I have little experience with what constitutes an adequate wage. And moreover..." she put on a sad smile. "...Moreover, money is worth less and less each day. So if you want, I can pay you a daily salary of, let's say... 10 million?"

Eliza held her breath at the number. It was more than she had ever earned at the embassy, not even counting the room and board. "For this, you need to be of service -- days, nights, weekends, wherever I go," Kathleen explained.

"Can I keep my clothes on?" Eliza asked.

For a moment the two women looked at each other quietly. Then Kathleen grinned slightly amused. "Only if you feel like it," she said.

Eliza nodded. "Alright then," she said.

"Grandiose," Kathleen said loudly and clapped her hands. "Let's get started right away!"

Confused, Eliza looked at her. "R-right away?" she asked. "I... I thought, you... you're... busy." Her eyes wandered to the naked woman by the window.

Kathleen followed her look and laughed. "Oh that," she said. "Nonsense, that's just an experiment. I... I do like to keep all details correct in my books, and it so happened that at one point I needed to talk about weals and which colours they take on. And the lovely Karla there helped me find out how many slaps it took."

The woman in the chair giggled and nodded. Kathleen put her hands on the desktop and pushed herself out of her chair. "Let me show you your working place," she said and went straight to the door.