the substarosta's case book 4

 so, someone mentioned Jan settling in and I managed to pull off a story  to do so; French smut having been seen as a problem in England, I assume it was not appreciated elsewhere either. Interestingly, in France, pictorial pornography was shocking but written smut was considered fine. though there were people deemed to have gone too far, viz the Marquis de Sade. Anyway, on with the story which proves there's one born every minute, and fraud is nothing new. 

 

 

Chapter 4 The Good, the Bad, and the Smutty

 

“This is Jan Syruć; don’t be put off by the name, he’s a half-Syruć as you might say,” said Klemens Młocki, introducing the ginger-haired, clean-shaven man. “He’s our new assistant.”

“I thought it would be preferable to working for my brother, even if I have to take a dip in pay as substarosta’s assistant,” said Jan. “Imagine my joy to find I’m paid more to expect more appreciation.”

“Welcome to the team,” said Dawid Starski. “I’ve just been confirmed as second sub-starosta, so you’re filling my shoes. My page is my wife, which a Raven banner way of doing things, even as Lew Krasiński is actually Mariola Bystrzanowska, the one real Raven amongst us, and the rest Ravens-in-law by acquisition, marriage, casuistry and jiggery-pokery.”

“I’ve heard of the White Ravens,” said Jan.

“What’s the briefing, boss?” asked Floriana Starska, otherwise known as the page, Florek.

“I had word that there’s a heap of pornographic pictures in from France being sold on the black market,” said Klemens. “And whatever you think of pornography, and that it is in no ways more explicit than the Rubenesque ceilings in many a magnate’s palace, it’s the association with crime which makes it a problem; men like looking at intimate pictures, and it funds criminals to sell the pictures.”

“Maybe it should be legal,” said Dawid.

“But where do you draw a line?” asked Klemens. “There are some subjects which are frankly disgusting, like with children or animals, but with a picture of a young prostitute, when do you judge her to be a child? And yes, I’m more aware of that because of Antonin Syruć, who was loathsome. Not to mention the old man and his proclivities in assaulting the horse of the statue of Jan Sobieski, or the hippocampus in the fountain.”

“My family are moderately loathsome,” said Jan, apologetically.

“Not your fault,” said Klemens.

“What are we looking for?” asked Mariola.

“Furtive men in bars, down alleyways, looking for money to change hands in exchange for small packets, about the size of plates from a magazine,” said Klemens. “Try outside the brothels; most brothel owners won’t let them operate inside and bring trouble on them.”

“You can patrol with me, Jan; call me Lew when we’re out,” said Mariola. “It’s the worst kept secret in Poland but some people still don’t know I’m Mariola. I believe the unlawful elements refer to me as ‘Bystrzanowski’s poison dwarf,’ because they’re afraid of my swords.”

“I heard what you did to my father; anyone with any sense is afraid of your swords, my lady,” said Jan.

“I hope you don’t have a problem with me,” said Mariola.

“The opposite. He wasn’t much of a father,” said Jan.

 

Evening in the city was a time when the shadows came alive with those who were out on illicit business as well as those with legitimate concerns. A pair of prostitutes started to approach two figures in kontusze, and one grabbed the arm of the other and steered her away. She met with some resistance but Mariola grinned to hear the hissed words, ‘Starosta’s office... mad Raven,’ which broke through the resistance and the two girls moved rapidly away, casting dirty looks at the pair.

“Wise call, Nutka,” said Mariola, recognising the one who had initiated the avoiding manoeuvre.

“Have a quiet night, my lord-lady,” said Nutka.

“Nutka! If you know anything about Parisian pornography, I’ll pass the word to blink if you’re not too aggressive,” said Mariola. “And  pay for information.”

Nutka came cautiously back.

“I had word that some is for sale but that it was all a swindle,” she said.

“A swindle? In what respect?” asked Mariola.

“Well, I might have heard of someone who bought a packet of pictures to bring ideas into a brothel, but he might have discovered that all but the top ones were nothing but plain paper underneath,” said Nutka. Mariola handed her a coin, and laughed.

“And the recipient doesn’t dare come in to report the fraud,” she chuckled.

“I suppose that is funny from your point of view,” said Nutka.

“I don’t make the laws, I only enforce them,” said Mariola.

Nutka sniffed, and scuttled off with her largesse, before Mariola could change her mind.

“Nutka has professional ethics,” said Mariola, to Jan. “She hasn’t an honest bone in her body in as far as a quick score of cash is concerned, but she never rolls her clients, and would probably even pick up and return the wallet of a client if it fell from his clothing during a transaction. But she gives value for money, and by all accounts is enthusiastic at her work. She would probably hand in a wallet with a lot of money, but would likely extract a finder’s fee; and as that’s more honest than many, it’s what you’ll get.  She posed as a nun asking for Maundy money – not that it was her idea – but she thought she was robbing the rich, not realising it took from the poor. She isn’t clever, but she is shrewd. I actually quite like her, in small doses. And she’ll turn in nasty criminals for free, though we always tip her.”

“There’s more of a relationship between the law and criminals than you’d realise, isn’t there?” said Jan.

“Informants are useful,” said Mariola. “Now, I’m going to try Bandy Benek’s brothel, because he has a known association with Nutka and has the imagination to consider using dirty pictures to help his clients to get in the mood.”

“I’ll be guided by you,” said Jan. “I’m getting an education.”

 

The brothel was a quiet, detached house in a back street, of a similar era to the one occupied by Mariola and Kazimierz, from the time when Większy-Bydlin was a small suburb outside Bydlin-Stary, though by no means as ornate or as large. Mariola oozed through the door like a shadow, with Jan in her wake.

“Hello, Benek,” said Mariola.

“Mother of God! The law! I ain’t done nothin’!” declared the bandy-legged little man.

“I understand someone sold you a fraudulent packet of Parisian beauties,” said Mariola.

“Dirty little cheat, yeah. Uh... It ain’t no crime to buy a packet of mostly plain paper,” said Benek.

“What, one on top as a tease?” said Mariola.

“You got it,” grumbled Benek. “And not even that smutty.”

“So, who sold it to you?” asked Mariola.

“Sleazy little creep with a Warszawa accent,” said Benek. “About your height, my lord, darkish hair, beard and moustache western fashion, sniffs a lot.”

“Marks at the top of his nose?” asked Mariola.

“Yeah, you know him?”

“Wild guess from the sniffing; syphilis,” said Mariola.

Benek spat.

“Dirty bastard; glad I never let him go with any o’ my girls,” he said.

“Obliged for the information, neighbour,” said Mariola, leading Jan out.

“You didn’t pay him?”

“He was willing to spill the beans in indignation but had not come to tell us voluntarily,” said Mariola. “And he doesn’t need it like Nutka does.”

 

It was Dawid Starski who brought in the man they sought, after Mariola had taken back a description.

Investigating a small riot with his page, he discovered a dozen or so men in an ugly mood, and one of them had produced a rope, and another a ladder.

“Come on, break it up,” said Dawid. “Oh, ho! We have a seller of smut, a purveyor of pornography, a vendor of venality. And tough luck to you all, the law wants him.”

“I never been so grateful to see a flatfoot in all me life,” said the little man.

“You’re going down, you know,” said Dawid. “Once for selling smut and once for defrauding your customers.”

“Will we get our money back?” asked one of the lynching party.

“You jest!” said Floriana. “You broke the law; be happy not to be pulled in for it. Look on it as an expensive lesson about accepting a deal that looks too good; it probably is.”

The crowd dispersed.

“So, what happened, you ran out of imported pictures?” asked Dawid.

“Naw,” said their captive. “I bought one pack in Warszawa, and I figured that if I made up twenty packets with one of the twenty pictures on top, I could make a good thing of it. I suppose I can’t bribe my way out of jail?”

“No, but you can talk your way into more time for trying bribery,” said Dawid.

“I should have stayed honest,” said the man, regretfully.