The Bound Folio

by Rob J. Hayes

  “What is it you want?” the man asked.

  “My name is Shián, what's yours?”

  “Urgo,” he said, glancing around again, a light sheen had appeared on his forehead.

  “Urgo,” Shián repeated, as if to herself, then ran her tongue over her lips, sure that Urgo was watching. “A strong name. I like it.”

  It all made sense. Men weren't allowed in the school without a eunuch escort unless...

  “You're Mistress Burnhide's husband.” It wasn't a question.

  “Yes, how did you—”

  “It must be hard,” Shián mused aloud as she walked past Urgo again, this time making sure she brushed lightly against him. He towered over her in size, yet Shián felt like she was in complete control. It was a strange feeling, intoxicating almost.

  “Hard?”

  “Yes,” Shián said and looked up into his eyes. They were dull, brown, and wide. Shián was reminded of a horse. Plenty of strength but little intelligence.

  “Because she's barren. Don't you have the urge to plant your seed in more fertile ground?”

  Urgo looked away.

  “To marry a mistress is a great honor,” he said. “She is beautiful and—”

  “Oh, I'm sure she was...once,” Shián cut him off. “A long time ago. They say I look somewhat like her, only younger. Prettier. Fertile.”

  Shián looked into his eyes again and saw it. The hunger there, one that would grow if unfed.

  “Goodbye, Urgo,” Shián turned and began walking away. After a few steps, she stopped and turned back to him. “See you tomorrow.”

  Shián sauntered back towards her room. She suppressed the victorious grin that threatened to explode forth. Such a thing would be un-mistresslike after all.

  #

  The following day passed like a blur. She was distracted, finding it impossible to focus or order her thoughts. Could she do it? Could she pull it off?

  A plan had formed in her head after meeting Urgo. If she could seduce the man, if she could convince him to break the rules, if she could convince him to fuck her, she could be free from Mistress Burnhide's abuse. Shián would have to tell the bitch what had happened, of course, but then she would have leverage, then she could blackmail Burnhide by threatening to reveal what her husband had done.

  That wasn't the only reason Shián was distracted, though. She was excited. It was a strange, nervous excitement, but she knew why she felt it. She knew she lived in a school of whores where they taught many things, but primarily they taught the pleasures of the flesh. Until now, Shián's only sexual experiences had been with other women. She wanted a man. She wanted to know what it felt like, to have a man inside her, and Urgo was not unattractive.

  So, Shián waited, attended her lessons, and projected an outward calm she did not feel. Urgo would be there, she was sure, and she was just as sure of her ability to seduce him.

  Her lessons ended on time and Shián rushed to the baths. Most days, she would stay a while in the baths, making sure to relax in the steam rooms for a time, as most of the students did, but not today. Her nervousness had almost reached the levels where she couldn't contain her excitement. Twice she caught herself smiling whilst staring into space. It wouldn't do for any of her friends to see that. They knew her too well; they'd know something was going on.

  Shián stopped in her room to brush her hair, reapply powder, and to choose the right perfume. She chose an interesting scent made from jasmine. It smelled a lot like Burnhide's favourite perfume only with a fresher fragrance.

  Then she was ready. She pulled her brown robe up around her body and fastened it with the belt. It wasn't the ideal garment for seducing a man, she knew, but she had no choice. If she was caught wearing anything else without a mistresses' permission she would receive immediate punishment. Shián had heard one story of a girl who'd had her mirror taken away for just such a punishment. She wouldn't risk that, nor would she risk missing her rendezvous with Urgo.

  Shián tried to slow her pace on her way to the garden. It was not easy. She had so much restless energy she felt like running or skipping there, but she made sure to walk and tried to look as though she had a reason to be out.

  When Shián reached the garden, her spirits dropped. Urgo wasn't the only one there. Three students, all younger than her, sat on one of the benches, whispering and giggling. Shián cursed beneath her breath. A very un-mistresslike action.

  Composing herself, she walked in and sat on one of the benches close to the students, trying to think of some way to make them leave. They continued whispering in even quieter tones, and Shián feigned disinterest. They were too quiet to hear anyway, not that listening in would have made a difference.

  It seemed Urgo had almost finished the repairs to the large window frame. He glanced back and Shián caught his eye. She could see the man blush bright red even through his beard and he quickly looked away. Shián suppressed a smile.

  She stared at the younger girls until one of them noticed. The whispering stopped and the girls kept looking away, glancing back now and then to check whether she was still watching. She narrowed her eyes, hoping to give the impression of suspicion. It worked. They began to look guilty, evidently there to watch Urgo and Shián let them know she was on to them. Within less than a minute, the girls departed the garden, making sure they didn't catch Shián's eyes as they went.

  At last, she was alone with Urgo.

  She didn't approach him right away. For a while, she just watched him. He was very confident in his movements, but Shián's presence seemed to be making him nervous. Over and again, Urgo looked over from his work, saw her watching him, and looked away. Shián couldn't help but smile. Doing something against the rules felt good.

  Judging the time was right, she stood and walked over. She passed behind Urgo, trailing a hand across his back. He turned towards her, looking guilty.

  “We shouldn't...” he began, but Shián could see the hunger in his eyes.

  “I dreamed of you last night,” Shián lied. “It was...enjoyable. Did you dream of me?”

  Urgo swallowed. “I've been able to think of little else.”

  “That must have been nice for you,” Shián said, taking a step forward. She was almost pressed up against him, and she ran her fingers across the bulge in his trousers.

  “Is there anywhere more private we can go?” Shián asked.

  “There's a storage cupboard, just over there.”

  A storage cupboard, how romantic for my first time, Shián thought, but had no time to complain. Urgo grabbed her wrist and started walking towards the cupboard. She couldn't have resisted if she'd tried, he was so strong.

  Once inside, he closed the door and turned towards Shián. It was spacious for a cupboard, but there wasn't enough room to lie down. Though she had never practiced it, Shián was familiar with sex while standing. She undid the belt around her robe and let the garment fall. She stood naked in front of Mistress Burnhide's husband.

  Urgo pressed Shián against the wall and kissed her. It was so unlike kissing another girl, she was shocked. He wasn't gentle, there was a harsh urgency to his lips, yet it was not unpleasant.

  Urgo fumbled with his belt, then dropped his trousers. He guided himself inside her.

  Shián gasped upon entry. Partly because she knew men liked it, the school had taught her that, and partly because of the pain. She hadn't expected it to hurt so.

  Urgo held her suspended off the floor, her legs splayed out to the sides, and thrusted. Shián held on to him, her back against the wall, and moaned into his ear, spurring him on.

  When the climax came, Shián didn't have to fake it like she had expected she would. She'd been told many men failed to pleasure women, but Urgo had no such problem; he was married to a mistress, after all. Shián trembled and gasped and had to bite Urgo's shoulder to stop herself from screaming. For his part, Urgo only grunted as he released his seed inside her, then his shoulders slumped and
he leaned against her, panting. Shián did the same.

  Urgo removed himself and stepped away. She felt between her legs. It had been messier than she had expected. Urgo was staring at her. Shián knew she should say something, she had been trained to do this, but her mind was a blank.

  She stepped into her robe and pulled it up around her body, re-tying the belt, then fled. She didn't look back. She pushed through the cupboard door, ran from the garden, and slowed to a quick walk towards her room. When she got there she didn't undress, didn't prepare for sleep, she just collapsed onto her bed, buried her head in her pillow, and wished she could cry.

  #

  Shián started as she heard the bang. She had been deeply asleep, though she had never been quick to wake at the best of times. It had taken a long time to fall asleep the night before. She had laid on her bed reliving the encounter with Urgo again and again in her head, trying to sort through the jumbled mess of emotions.

  She had done it. She’d had sex with a man, with her mistress' husband no less. She should have felt overjoyed; she was a woman now. All through the night, however, she was a confused mess, wanting to cry, unable to figure out why. At some point, she fell asleep.

  Then Shián remembered the bang that had woken her; it was the door to her room slamming open.

  “Up, Crowfeather,” came Mistress Burnhide's cold voice.

  Does she know?

  Shián rolled out of bed and stood to face her mistress. She realized she was still wearing her brown robe from the day before, but found she didn't care.

  “Yes, mistress.”

  “Are you ill?” Mistress Burnhide asked, her eyes were narrowed to slits.

  “No, mistress.”

  “Then there can be no excuse. You're late for your morning lessons.”

  Mistress Burnhide raised her hand. Shián stepped backwards out of her reach. The mistress stopped, shocked by her student's action.

  “You won't be punishing me, hag; in fact, you'll never punish me again.” Shián’s defiance made her feel bold.

  “How dare you...” Mistress Burnhide said taking a step forward. She stopped. Her nostrils flared. “You smell of sex.”

  “Yes, I suppose I do.” Shián grinned. “I'm surprised your husband didn't.”

  Burnhide's eyes widened in shock, and she paled even beneath her thick layer of powder.

  “Strike me again and I'll tell the entire school your husband fucked me.” Shián said, her victory giving her confidence. “I believe the punishment is quite severe.”

  Mistress Burnhide said nothing. She glared at Shián a moment, then turned and walked out, closing the door behind her. Shián heard the click of the lock.

  Confused, she walked to the door and tried the handle. It didn't move.

  She went to her desk, took out her hair brush, and looked into her oval mirror.

  “Now what?” she asked her reflection.

  #

  Later that day, one of the serving girls unlocked the door. She brought Shián a wash basin, a sponge, a small tray of plain food, and a foul-smelling cup of tea. Shián ignored her until she left, then fell upon the food. It felt like days since she had last eaten. After that, she washed herself, cleaning off the sweat and the evidence of Urgo, and sipped at the tea.

  When no one else came to see her, Shián slept.

  #

  The next day passed much the same. Her door remained locked and was only opened when the serving girl brought her food. Shián subdued her anger. This was punishment and no mistake. Mistress Burnhide would regret it.

  On the fifth day, Shián attempted to speak to the serving girl. However, she wouldn't so much as look at her, so Shián made for the door. A burly eunuch stepped into her path, blocking her. Shián glared at the annoying half-man, yet knew he would stop her from leaving no matter what, so she returned to her incarceration.

  Days seemed to turn into weeks, and still nothing changed. Shián's frustration grew and grew. With no window, she could only tell time by counting the serving girl’s visits. Shián slept when her candles died and woke when the serving girl arrived to replace them. Boredom became her constant companion. One day, the door opened and instead of the serving girl Shián had expected, a man stood in the doorway.

  “Come, daughter. Now,” Shián's father said.

  Shián looked around her room to decide what she would take. Her father being here could only mean one thing: she had been expelled. As far as she knew such a thing had never before happened. She wondered whether Mistress Burnhide had explained why.

  “You need those things, not. Come, daughter. Now,” her father said, a hard edge to his voice.

  Shián held her head high and walked from the room, following her father through the school towards the exit. There were no mistresses about, no students to see her go, not even her friends. Even Mistress Burnhide was absent. Shián would have expected the old bitch to be there to gloat at least. A single mistress stood at the school door with a set of keys. Shián's father nodded to the woman and apologized for his daughter. Shián kept her mouth shut and her eyes downcast. It was strange but she felt embarrassed. She squinted once they were outside on the doorstep to the desert. Two horses awaited them, and Shián's father gestured to one before helping her mount. He climbed atop the other horse, and they set off.

  “I'm sorry, father,” Shián said in a voice that sounded small. “I've brought disgrace to the tribe. I'm...are you angry?”

  Harlow Stormborne turned toward his daughter with sympathy in his eyes. He looked no different to Shián than the day he had left her there three years ago.

  “Angry, I am not, daughter. Punish you, I won't. Punish yourself, I think is enough.” He pointed across Shián to something to her right.

  She peered in horror at a dead man hanging from one of the sparse trees of the desert. Urgo. He was stripped bare, his genitals removed. They had cut off his manhood and hanged him as a warning, and as punishment for one who knew the rules yet had broken them. Kneeling on the ground before Urgo's body was a woman. She looked old, defeated. Her once-black hair now more gray, her powder gone, and her head buried in her hands as she wept.

  Shián looked away. For the first time in three years, hot tears coursed down her face. She began to shake and could not stop from crying. This was her fault. She had killed Urgo, as surely as if she'd tied the rope around his neck herself.

  Her father’s hand gripped her shoulder. He had moved his horse closer to comfort his daughter. Still, Shián wept. She could not face him. Her father waited a moment, then reached across for her reins, and then he led both of their mounts into the desert, back towards home.

  Black Blood

  “This is not my finest moment,” Beck said with a weak smile, cornered as she was on the town hall’s roof.

  The first pirate leered, the second jeered, and the third issued a raucous burp and scratched his own arse with the hand not attached to a rusty cutlass. Beck heard shouts from down below. More pirates gathered in the streets of Mud Free and, upon glancing down at the crowd, she was fairly convinced the entire crew of Ocean Deep was on the verge of baying for her blood.

  She took a step toward the edge of the roof, and the three pirates followed; another step, and her back suddenly pressed against something solid and distinctly unyielding. Beck looked back at the unyielding object and grinned — a post had been driven straight into the rooftop of the town hall and a fraying rope stretched to the ground at a taut angle to help secure the rickety wooden structure. Luck had ever been Beck's best friend, and now, it seemed, was no different.

  “Tell you what: I give up. You win.” Beck sheathed her rapier and held up her hands in the most placating manner she could rustle up. Two of the pirates, Leery and Jeery, charged.

  Beck stepped into Leery’s opening attack, allowing the blade to skim her stomach. She sent a lightning-fast kick to the back of the pirate's knee, then twisted away from a second attack, grabbing h
old of Jeery's leather belt as she went. With a practiced flick of the wrist, she pulled Jeery’s belt free of his waist and, before any of the pirates knew what had happened, dashed to the rooftop’s edge and leapt into empty space, wrapping the belt around the frayed rope, and prayed to Volmar it would hold her weight.

  Cursing pirates, a dilapidated wooden shack, and more mud than Beck knew existed passed beneath her as she slid down the rope at a frightening speed. Even worse, the end of the line rushed up to meet her, and it looked far from pleasant in the form of a wooden wall she would wager was less soft than she would like.

  Her wide-brimmed hat pulled free in the wind and whipped away, spilling Beck's long blonde hair free. She cursed before letting go of the belt and plummeted the six feet or more to the muddy ground.

  Beck hit heavily, stumbled in the mud, yet somehow pulled a pistol free from her jerkin, aimed it upwards and blind-fired — all in one fluid motion. Her bullet cut straight through the frayed rope. Beck heard a scream as one of the pirates fell from a height he was less than comfortable with. She spared it little thought and shoved the pistol back into its holster on her jerkin, breaking into a run, coat and hair flapping behind her.

  It appeared the pirates were not in the mood to stop chasing her, if anything they seemed more invigorated. Beck had to admit that, in retrospect, throwing their captain into Mud Free's muddiest quagmire was probably not the best idea she had ever come up with. The problem was the man simply would not leave her alone, and she just did not appreciate his ever-persistent and fevered attempts to grab handfuls of her arse. Of course, she hadn't known at the time he was a ship’s captain and neither had she suspected that her dumping the dull-witted fellow into a pile of mud would earn her the bloody attention of a few dozen rowdy pirates.

  She heard shouts from close behind and barrelled around a corner at full speed, only to skid to a halt by what probably passed for a tavern in Mud Free. She found herself confronted by two more men exuding that undefinable piratical air about their persons.