by K T Munson
His class had ended early when one of his pupils had declared the day too hot for classes. Deckard had agreed; the mind thought little when distracted by heat or chill. That meant he had arrived well ahead of his monthly meeting. The council had been put together to deal with the harbor and general trade, Deckard had only been included because he knew the layout of Tiam better than anyone else.
He was born here, amongst the older side of their great city. Here, the crumbling stone was as thick as the oldest outer walls and worn from age. They were beautiful to him and shone happily in his memory. His mother had been the greatest courtesan of her time. The Mermaid, they had called her for her long black hair that shone blue at times. Unlike Ostapor and its pleasure slaves, Tiam was rich with women of beauty that were trained in the art of love, for money.
His mother had borne him despite her taking of Grendel, an herb to prevent pregnancy. He was her only child and he had never known who his father was. Yet his mother had been enough, with her smiles and perfumes. He could still remember her smile sometimes when he closed his eyes.
She had settled a large sum of her earnings in a bank under his name, for the university. She used to laugh and tell him he would care for her one day. She had died holding little Evanora, a smile on her face, in every comfort. Deckard was happy he had been able to provide her with at least that much when she had become too old to continue being a Courtesan.
His strange background was not well known among his peers. His mind had the makings to turn the world over and his mother had seen it. Evanora reminded him that there was a reason to try and make the world a better place. It had not been long after that before he had turned from history and looked to the future.
“Otto Deckard,” a man called standing just to his left and startling him from his thoughts.
“Travell,” Deckard said with a start, “I did not hear you approach.”
“Nor did you hear me call your name half a dozen times before using your full name,” Travell said with a coy smile.
Of all the men that Deckard knew, Travell Myden was the man he respected most. Travell was ten years older than Deckard and twice as wise. In times of great internal debates, Deckard had always turned to him for outside advice. He did not always use it but did heed his words more times than not. His hair was completely white and shone brightly against his coppery skin.
“I was distracted,” Deckard admitted.
“Evidently,” Travell responded, his face set in amusement. “We had better enter.”
Travell turned and they entered the lavishly decorated council room. It was covered with everything from the Sand Wars to the great council that had first started Tiam. The great artists of Tiam were adept at paint, needlework, weaving, statues, glass, ceramic, and even mixed mediums. The world that Deckard lived in was alive with art in all its forms.
“This meeting will certainly affect the future of Tiam,” Deckard commented almost absentmindedly.
“I wonder if that is true,” Travell said taking a seat as he spoke. “This city is the richest in the world, and it prides itself on being the most advanced. Tiam is exponentially expanding and reinventing itself. No one in the known world can match us.”
“Yet the death of a city or country is stagnant innovation,” Deckard countered settling down to Travell’s left. “If we do not continue to reinvent ourselves the city will become obsolete. It will fade into the fabric of history.”
“The fabric of history?” Travell asked in amusement, “When did you become such a poet?”
“Accidently,” Deckard retorted with a little academic humor shining in his eye. “For no man of knowledge becomes a poet on purpose.”
Travell laughed, hard, and his entire thin frame moved with the rolling laughter. Travell was a patron of the arts, he had dabbled in poetry and music composition but found he had not the brain for it. He was too rigidly disciplined in mathematics to attempt creativity. The music he created had been disjointed and simple mathematical perfection but little else.
“I believe I shall use that line in my next lecture,” Travell retorted, “It will surely surprise my students.”
Others had streamed in around them and the sound of the room was a hum of conversation. All of it shattered into silence when the council leader struck the desk with the wooden mallet. Everyone took their seats as he began the introduction.
“We gather together as the Council of Trade to discuss options for expanding our port,” Teacher Superior said, his face covered in a thick beard, which extended down to his belly. “I shall open the floor to comments in the opposition.”
Travell stood, his mustache-less beard set in a carefully controlled face as he spoke, “The expense of expanding the port would be too great a burden for Tiam to bear. Although there are delays associated with trade that passes through Tiam on the northern and southern portion of the port, there are not excess delays that interrupt the trade flow. It is in this regard that I cast my vote against the ballet of port expansion.”
Simple, to the point, and clearly heavily set in one opinion; that was very much Travell’s fashion. Deckard sent him a knowing smile as Travell settled down. He could elaborate further and explain the better uses of the funds if anyone made an argument that went above what he had pointed out. A younger professor stood and pulled a parchment from his satchel
“I present the new port of Tiam,” he said with flare and rolled the parchment out across the table.
Upon it the port of Tiam was on two sides of the river; the right accommodated northern moving traffic and the southern moving ships on the left. The width of The Knife allowed for all ships to move without incident on their perspective sides. It was both brilliant and insane, Deckard thought as he stood to get a closer look.
The younger Teacher began to explain the concept to them, but his voice faded to Deckard’s background. Tiam existed only on the West side of the river; this man was not just suggesting expanding the port, he was expecting to expand all of Tiam. The other side was untouched for a short portion and then jutted up into high plateaus that led into the even taller mountains.
Deckard settled back in his chair and listened to the end of his speech, “…this would better our entire city. Already we are outgrowing our city walls and are building further north and south. We are also building beyond the walls, deeper into the desert. Tiam is the greatest city in the world and people wish to live here. We should be proactive and anticipate the needs of the people with an expansion.”
Deckard glanced around the room and many were nodding in agreement. Even Deckard had to admit that in recent years there was less area for population growth. They had started to replace older buildings with newer ones that were taller, but it was a slow process. Only when they were falling apart did they impose upon the owners to go elsewhere while it was rebuilt. Most of it was in the oldest part of town because they were thousands upon thousands of years old.
“How will the goods from one port get to another?” Teacher Gravis asked to Deckard’s right.
“A ferry system,” the younger Teacher answered. “If goods need to be transported a smaller cargo system will move them from one to another.”
So, the questions and answers continued, round and round the table. Yet Deckard was quiet, more so than normal. A thought had occurred to him about the plateaus. Birds can jump and began to fly but it easier to fly when one starts at a great height. Perhaps even a running start would help to get his contraption in the air.
The ferries used a rotating blade to move them forward; perhaps between the height and the propelling of air he would be able to get his flying machine working. Deckard was so completely wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the meeting come to a close. It wasn’t until Travell nudged him did he stir from his thoughts.
“You are more distracted than normal,” Travell pointed out with a laugh. “Any worse and you will be bumping into columns.”
“Perhaps,” Deckard responded with a subdued sm
ile, “If I do, I am sure you will be the first to tell me, my friend.”
Travell slapped him on the shoulder as they left the room. “That I shall. What has you so distracted my friend?”
“Birds,” Deckard responded with an all-knowing smile.
Chapter 11
Celia
The dull ache of her foot intensified, the further into consciousness she drifted. She felt groggy; as though she was trying to travel through fog so thick she could not see the hand in front of her face. She could feel a pounding of pain in her head, directly behind her eyes. She blinked the fog from her vision and the room became clear.
She was strung up by her wrists, just as the girl had been. She shifted her weight off of her wrists and blood rushed back into her bloodless hands. She gave a cry of pain from the pins that attacked every inch of her hands. She rolled her head over at a squeak, much like a mouse.
The girl was bound just like she was, but her arms were loose at her side. She had them to her face and she was muttering to herself as she hunched over. Her hair was greasy and hung in dirty brown clumps. Celia grimaced as she flexed her hands and tried to remember everything that had happened.
Her eyes immediately went to her foot and she tried not to hyperventilate. Her smallest toe was gone; there was a bandage and an empty area where her little toe had been. Bile rose in her throat as she averted her gaze from it to the girl with her missing toes, which were now more apparent.
“What is your name?” Celia asked the girl, trying to take her mind from her toe.
“Donna, Donna, Donna,” she sang and laughed as her chains jingled with the movement of her hands.
“What did you do?” Celia could not help but let her curiosity take charge.
“I hit a man,” she said with a giggle laced with madness. “He hit me first and knocked out a tooth. I like my teeth, so I gave him back the gift of a fist.”
“What about the other ones?” Celia asked.
She glanced at the other four missing toes and whimpered before turning away and whispering, “I will not misbehave again, for once I have no toes he shall take Donna’s head, my head, and it will roll, roll, roll away.”
Celia ignored the clearly insane woman and she pulled on her chains. They rattled a little but did not budge. The girl started to yell at her and Celia had to stop to hear her clearly.
“You must not try to escape,” Donna told her, her face and words filled with primal terror. “Our great Master will skin you and make me watch. I cannot watch again.”
“Again?” Celia demanded as she struggled to swallow the saliva down her suddenly parched throat.
“Vidia was blond and fair. They flayed her and made me watch so that I would not try to escape,” she said staring at the stone platform in the middle of the room, her eyes unfocused. “She had such beautiful teats. They started there and made me watch. I was a witness, they said.”
“Has anyone ever escaped?” Celia asked, forcing herself not to look at the stone torture bed.
“One escaped before Vovo, but never after,” Donna said and rolled her head in order to see Celia, “except in death.”
Celia could not keep the shudder from racking her body. She shook her head and focused on room instead. The old woman didn’t seem to be there and as far as she could tell there was no one else lurking in the shadows. The red room was exactly as she remembered it but now that she wasn’t trying to actively escape, more of the room caught her attention. She noticed the fact that the ceiling was painted black and the light she had mistaken for moonlight was some strange lanterns strung up that glowed an eerie blue.
She was still staring at the lanterns when the door to her right swung open. Vovo strode in as though he was just out for an evening walk; though it was impossible for Celia to tell if it was night or day. She did not know how long she had been unconscious.
“My lovely treasures,” Vovo said as he strolled into the room. “How fare thee on the fading afternoon?”
“I am well and well behaved,” Donna insisted, her chains rattled as she bobbed her entire body.
“As always,” he said softly and cupped a hand on the woman’s face. “You would not disappoint me again?”
“No!” She all but yelled before adding a little calmer, “I would never wish to disappoint my master.”
“There’s a good girl,” Vovo said before turning to Celia, “And what of you?”
“I was frightened,” Celia said and tried to sound weak although she just wanted to pull out his butterfly hair.
“You have nothing to fear,” he said before slipping his hand around her neck. “Unless you betray my good will again.”
Celia met his gaze. “I shall submit myself to your good will again,” Celia said.
He released her throat and she let her gaze fall as she imagined digging out his eyes with her fingers. He was the darkest place in the world and only the light could cleanse him. He needed to be purified by fire and Celia would make that happen. He waved the tall guard over and undid her shackles until she slumped to the ground.
“I shall see if you are obedient and then you shall have food,” he said and waved towards the stone bed.
“What of me?” Donna squeaked, her eyes pleading.
He backhanded her and hissed, “I did not give you leave to speak.”
“Forgiveness,” she insisted as Celia was drug up onto the raised platform.
“One more day and then I shall test your loyalty,” Vovo informed her.
“This one is grateful,” Donna said, as she bowed and reverted back to the shadows.
Celia tried not to turn away or show disgust as Vovo pressed his lips to hers. Celia felt her face and mouth be covered with saliva. The man’s kiss was so slobbery she would not be surprised if he had gotten training from a mastiff. She endured it knowing that it was about to get worse—if this was how he kissed she feared how he did the rest.
He didn’t ceremonially undress her but ripped the thin fabric of her pants. She gasped in surprise and instinctively tried to cover herself. Realizing what she had done Celia tried to correct it, but he just laughed at her. She wished she had a lit candle to shove down his throat.
“Innocence, how had I not seen it?” Vovo said softly, “Tell me, how many men have you experienced?”
“One,” she answered and added though it was a lie, “And only once.”
He pushed her legs apart and waved the guard over who held the lantern high. He was inspecting her, like a piece of cattle. Celia felt humiliation well up under her chest and bit down on her lip to keep her tears in check.
“It is rare to find one so untouched with such beauty,” Vovo said softly, “What do you think of her Rauf?”
He grunted, and she met his eyes in a challenge. Vovo tipped his head to the side before he shoved two fingers into her. She gasped and whimpered from the suddenness of it. She was as dry as an old bone and as tight as a boa constrictor’s grip on its prey.
He laughed. “I shall fetch a high price for you. Rauf, take her upstairs and have her dressed in white. I am going to sell her as an innocent to the highest bidder. I will have to see to Donna.” He sounded excited and it made her skin crawl.
The walk gave her a short reprieve and she glanced up at Rauf. “You are a slave as well?”
“I am,” he responded curtly.
“Are you cut?” She asked curiously; she had heard of men being cut to serve as guards.
He glanced at her but continued his relentless march. Celia stayed carefully quiet as they left the underground and ascended up the stairs. Celia decided to switch topics as she stumbled, and he had to pause to straighten her.
“I am graceless without my toe,” she said sadly and looked up at him with her best helpless face. “Do you believe I will please Master Vovo?”
“He finds little pleasure in any woman, for long,” Rauf admitted as the sounds of laughing women became apparent. “Focus on the other men.”
She put a hand on his
arm, it was bare and warm to the touch, and he paused in surprise. He was not a handsome man by any means. He was tall, built like a bull, with coarse black hair, a broad flat face, and unremarkable eyes. By no means was he the object of any woman’s desire.
“Would you find pleasure in me?” She asked letting her mouth open a little as she had seen other women do at the market.
His eyes widened, and he grunted in pain as she stepped back. His grip on her tightened and she tried to pull away before he crushed her. Instead he spun her around and held onto both her arms and shook her. She felt like a rag doll in his arms, so great was his strength.
“Do not speak of pleasure around me again,” he said harshly, his voice was hoarse.
“Have I hurt you?” Celia said, forgetting her objective as genuine concern overcame her.
“I wear a ring of submission,” Rauf’s jaw was clenched, and she could see the strain on his face. Her eyes were drawn to the junction of his legs. Even she knew what that was, and it meant he was attracted to her, but his arousal was met by a metal band that didn’t give when he hardened.
“Puppies,” she blurted and saw an expression of shock on his face, “Rainbows, babies, your mother.”
“What in the world are you doing?” He asked regarding her as though she had gone insane.
“Listing things that have nothing to do with pleasure,” she said before adding, “Daisies.”
He released her and stared at her dumbfounded before asking, “Why?”
“You were in pain.” She may wish to end Vovo, but Rauf had done nothing cruel that was not a direct order; he was as much a victim as she was.
He didn’t say anything but instead gently seized her arm and led her down the hall. He stopped at a door and opened it. She hesitated a moment before she entered. The sunlight from a late afternoon sun poured through the windows. It took everything in her not to cry at the sight of the sun.
As he closed the door behind her she heard him whisper, “Thank you.”
