by Gwynn White
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Wilmur approached and gripped her by the upper arms. “But you will find I am plain spoken and direct. So, when I tell you I expect you to behave as appropriate for a Zervek wife, you can be certain I mean it.”
Dothylian nodded, and when Wilmur released her, she let out a breath she hadn’t meant to hold. Blood rushed back into her hands and feet, and her heart beat faster than before. How was she going to get through the next few minutes, let alone long enough to employ the only hope she had to get away from this man? She wanted to pull out the silver object she held and find strength in its promise, but she resisted, not even allowing a hand to reach up and touch where it was hidden.
Wilmur continued walking, this time at a quickened pace and Dothylian rushed to keep up with him. She walked encumbered by her clothing and impractical shoes but didn’t dare fall behind. The buzz of the illumibots echoed off the walls around her, and she wanted to ask about the tunnel’s construction, was it stone from Terra Qar or plasteel? How was it fashioned, like walls and a ceiling or more like a burrow? She kept her mouth shut, and allowed her curiosity to distract her from what might be coming next.”
The illumibots danced ahead of Wilmur, flying up to a distant door and then back to his side as if excited to have reached their destination.
When they arrived at the end, Wilmur swung open a door revealing a lavish room decorated in reds, browns, and cream. Inside, the temperature was much warmer, and Dothylian shivered. Behind her, the door shut, leaving the playful illumibots behind in the dark.
Dothylian stood still and waited for instruction from Wilmur. She had to play the obedient wife, be the woman he thinks he’s buying so that she can strike.
“Are you a virgin?” Wilmur asked as he came back around to face her. He looked over her body, appraising her like a clock or sword he might be tempted to purchase if it was in the right condition.
“No.” Dothylian left her answer at that, feeling no compulsion to offer any more explanation than that. Among the elite, it was quite normal to be with lovers before marriage.
“Good,” Wilmur turned from her and approached a desk that sat in the corner of the large room.
Dothylian took a moment to look around. The room was sparsely decorated with heavy curtains draped over windows that barely showed the stars above them. Couches, settees, and other lounge chairs were speckled throughout the room, but the only real furniture was the desk.
“I ask because I have no interest in breaking you in. Were you still intact I would instruct one of my servants or guards to have their way. Some of them quite enjoy the squirming pain of a tight bud. Myself, I prefer other kinds of games. And I prefer to take my time.”
Dothylian bit her tongue to keep from asking if he were a virgin, pointing out the ridiculous and insulting nature of his question. Now was not the time. She dug a nail into her palm and maintained neutral eye-contact with the man who had just not so thinly threatened her.
“You do know why I asked for tonight’s meeting?”
“Yes,” Dothylian replied. “You wish to make sure we are compatible.”
“Yes. I want to make sure you know what it is I expect from you if you are to be a part of this family.”
“I would imagine conversations such as this would save many couples from disappointment and heartbreak if only they were had.” Dottie kept her face expressionless, not allowing even a minute trace of the disgust and insult she felt at her fiancé’s words.
Wilmur raised an eyebrow and turned to pour himself a drink from the decanter on his desk. He did not offer one to Dothylian, nor invite her to sit.
“Let’s be upfront about a few things,” he sat on the edge of his desk and took a sip of the amber liquid in his glass. “I have no concern over your disappointment or heartbreak. You are being purchased, a transaction to clear your family’s debt. Some may prefer to be romantic about such things, but the fact is, this is about nothing but money and your lack of it. What you do offer is the ability to provide me an heir.”
Dothylian kept her eyes low and nodded. She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, trying to temper the flaring rage building inside her chest.
“I expect four children within the next four to five years. That’s live children, not miscarriages or hopeful news. And I expect at least one of them to be a boy.”
“Surely you know I can’t control—”
“I did not give you permission to speak.” Wilmur’s voice was soft, almost gentle as he clearly defined where he thought her place was.
Again, Dothylian nodded, and her nail broke through the skin of her palm.
“You will not take lovers so long as we are married and you are fertile. If at some point, I deem to allow such freedom, I will inform you, but I would not plan on anything of the sort for quite some time. I, however, will continue with the relationships I currently have and any others I will form. Your children will be my heirs, but others may come to live here, and I expect you to treat them as your own.”
Wilmur spoke about the kind of things couples negotiated in honest and loving conversations as if he were a dictator and she nothing more than a brood mare. Dothylian’sire ran high, and she longed to return even to the blackness of the tunnel instead of the insulting way this man spoke to her with such ease and privilege. He expected that there would be no pushback on any of his demands and he was absolutely right. She could not push back. She could not make demands of him or even risk a divorce, as then all debt would be returned to her name. The Zerveks had made sure that clause was written into the contract. She was trapped. A slave.
“When I travel, you will always accompany me, but you will never travel alone. Your visits with family and friends will happen on this compound or in my presence and should I leave you for some reason you will be restricted to Terra Qar. This should be of no concern for you as you will be spending the majority of the rest of your life on Terra Qar as will our children.”
Dothylian nodded, her jaw clamped shut to keep her from screaming. The elite were arrogant, she knew many who held themselves as better than her simply because of her family’s lack of wealth, but this man’s audaciousness astounded her. For a moment she regretted having to only plant the device for Kadira and wished she had agreed to indeed kill him. He deserved no better.
“Any items you require, clothing, jewels, other necessities, will be requisitioned through Trevess. He will approve or bring me any requests he is unsure of. You will be provided with most anything you need. A woman in your standing must, of course, be presented at all times in the latest fashions and best fineries. However, you will have no money of your own. There will be no accounts given to you, no shared land ownership or tarn of your own.”
“And our children?” Dothylian ventured to ask.
“They will be set up with trusts at the age of one terran year with enough to keep them in the elite for the rest of their lives. More will be added as their accomplishments merit, and they will receive it either upon marriage or at the age of twenty.”
“For both daughters and sons?”
“Yes.” Wilmur tilted his head, not seeing her point.
“So, you would not wish your own daughters to live as you are dictating their mother shall.”
Wilmer’s neutral façade cracked, and fury twisted his features as he stood. “They will be Zerveks. Not pauper whores who have to do as I say or risk the destruction of themselves, their families, and everyone else they love.”
He stalked toward her, eyes ablaze. “Now, take off your clothes.”
4
When Wilmur finished with Dothylian in the sitting room, he took her to his private bedroom. There he called in guard after guard, each of which took a turn with her body as Wilmur lay on the bed next to her, lightly playing with her hair.
After each indignity, Wilmur would ask her, “Will you marry me, my beloved Dothylian.” To which she would reply “Yes” forcing herself not to look at the crumpled remains of
her dress on the floor nearby, where the silver device waited for her.
When the guards had finished with her, he took her again. It was over quickly, but her hate for him ran so deep that she could barely muster the energy to keep from retreating into the numbers in her mind.
Wilmur was smart. Every time she would begin to calculate and distance herself from what was happening, he would slap her across the face, bringing her back to whatever and whoever was abusing her body.
“There must be no bruises or marks on you ever, or the consequences will be severe,” he whispered in her ear as a large hairy guard thrust and sweat on top of her. “And only you have the power to keep it from happening. Look him in the eye. Watch as he finds pleasure in your body. Know you are nothing more than the goats that terrans fuck. Accept it and live in that knowledge and I will not need to hurt you again.”
So Dothylian did. She watched as the man grunted and released inside her and then welcomed the next who would take her with open arms. All with a sliver of silver metal just out of reach.
When the evening was over, Wilmur placed her under the thick blanket on his bed and fetched her a glass of water. He doted, making sure she drank and telling her that in the morning, she would ache, but she should find joy in knowing she’d pleased her husband. As she laid there, Wilmur called for one of the female servants and used her body gently while looking right at Dothylian, demanding she watch.
When he finished and dismissed the servant, he snuggled under the covers, pulling her tight against him.She felt his warm breath and the tickle of his short beard as he whispered, “I believe we will be very happy together, my love.”
He drifted to sleep, and Dothylian counted, multiplied, squared, and did every computation she could think of to keep herself from succumbing to the tears and fatigue that threatened to undo everything she had endured this night for. Eventually, when his breathing was steady, and his arm no longer held her but simply lay like a brick upon her stomach, she slid out from beneath him. She was armed with a lie about using the bathroom should he wake, but he remained blissfully asleep.
Her body burned and ached and she could feel the slickness between her legs as she inched away from the bed toward her clothing. She wished she had a blade—even a dull ceremonial one—that she could use to saw into her betrothed’s throat. Part of her had worried about killing him before they were officially wed and what that would mean for her family, but she no longer cared. They had sold her to that monster.
Gently, she lowered herself to the floor. Her knees bruising already and screaming in pain as she put her weight down. She reached for her bodice and found the boning where the silver device had been hidden. With a long nail, she pulled the loose stitches that held it in place and pulled the item out. She popped it in her mouth, under her tongue, just in case Wilmer woke and wondered why she was up.
Back in bed, Wilmer had rolled onto his back, his mouth slack.
Dothylian climbed back in, careful not to bounce the mattress or groan as the ache in her bones and muscles screamed out against her movements. When she was settled, she pulled the device from under her tongue and pressed the two ends, holding them for the count of four before setting it down on the pillow next to Wilmur’s head.
The silver obelisk rotated silently, shifting plates of semi-liquid metal creating segments along its body until it had become long and thin. At one end, the faint green light of a receiver glowed, but at the other, the metal had reconfigured into a thin point with two needle-like antennae pointing directly ahead.
The antennae twitched, and the whole device seemed to shiver before beginning a sinuous movement. It lifted the head end, and the antennae twitched again. What it saw or how it interpreted information Dothylian didn’t know, but what she did know was that she was thankful it wasn’t her DNA programmed into the device’s tracking orders.
Dothylian had never seen a mind worm in action, so when it slithered toward Wilmur, she half expected it to leave behind a trail of slime. It’s movements of bunching together and then reaching forward with its head until it had stretched back out repulsed her, but she watched, both fascinated and eager to see what damage it would inflict on her intended groom.
The mind worm crept up to Wilmer’s head and lifted itself up, so it balanced only on its last few segments. It struck so fast, Dothylian gasped and jumped back, unable to stop herself. The mind worm had dug the razor-sharp antennae deep inside Wilmur’s ear releasing the sedative and anesthetic that would keep the man from moving while it invaded his brain. It pierced through his flesh and bone, and Dothylian watched as it slowly made its way into his ear before disappearing completely into the hole it had burrowed. The faint green light glowed under his flesh for a moment before disappearing completely.
THE END
About the Authors
Super-powered duo SM Blooding and P.K. Tyler have taken on space opera, and are prepared to rock your world.
Pew Pew Pew!
www.BlackSystemLegends.com
Dirty Deeds & Bloody Knaves
A Steampunk Fairy Tales Short Story A Steampunk Fairy Tales Short Story
Melanie Karsak
From the world of Curiouser and Curiouser: Steampunk Alice in Wonderland
When Knave and Rabbit are given a job by the countess, there’s no distance they won’t climb to get the job done. Coming back down, however, proves much stickier.
* * *
“That it?” Rabbit whispered as he bent down to tie his bootlace.
The wind whipped off the Thames, making the tails on my jacket flutter. The airships anchored at the London tower rocked in their berths. The loading platforms were busy. Passengers pushed and shoved one another to board the massive, four-prop transport headed to the major European hub in Calais.
I pretended to fumble with my hat, dropping it so I could follow Rabbit’s gaze. On the platform below us, the airship pirates—or merchants as they would have the commoners believe—were loading the last of their ill-gotten goods onto the Mechanica. I glanced down at the platform. The Rose Red was docked just behind the pirate ship. I smirked.
“Yeah, that’s it. Come on,” I told Rabbit, snatching up my hat. The little white-haired boy, wearing knee britches, suspenders, and a black eye from a recent scuffle, grinned up at me. We headed down the platform. As we went, Rabbit pickpocketed a money clip, an expensive-looking parcel, and a glimmering brooch from the crowd of travelers. I pretended not to notice.
At the end of the platform, the tower guards surveyed the crowd suspiciously. I lowered my hat and watched my feet as we passed on our way to the stairs. I cast a sidelong glance at Rabbit who was now wearing a very expensive-looking silk ascot. He had his hands in his pockets, an expression of cherub-like innocence on his face.
Grinning, I ruffled the boy’s hair.
The sun was sinking below the horizon. When we reached the lower platform, a lamplighter was making his way down the thoroughfare, lighting the gas lamps. The sky was a strange mix of blue and orange, the last echo of the sun dipping below the horizon as the moon rose.
I made my way down the platform toward the Rose Red. My eyes, however, took in every inch of the Mechanica. A merchant ship, my sweet arse. They loaded box after box of ill-gotten goods. I watched as a small red crate made its way onto the ship. Captain Pace snarled at his crew. Bloody pirate. I wondered how much he’d paid the guards to let him dock here. He was wanted in at least three ports in the States and a dozen more in Europe.
Frowning, I turned my attention more fully to the pleasure cruiser, the Rose Red, in the berth behind the Mechanica. I drew up next to the loading gate. Lingering against the rail of the ship was half a dozen of the prettiest tarts I’d ever seen. Wearing more makeup than clothes, they waved and called to passersby.
“Come on, love. Just a quick jot to Dublin and back,” a blonde-haired harlot purred at a refined gentleman who looked downright scandalized that she’d spoken to him.
I laughed.
I winked at him. “Yeah. Yeah. You know what you’re about, then?”
He patted his pocket, winked at me, then meandered down the platform.
I turned to the guard at the entrance of the Rose Red.
“I’m here to see the captain,” I said.
The man, who was twice my size, raised an eyebrow at me. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a playing card and handed it to him: the Jack of Hearts.
He took the card, gave me an assessing glance, then turned and headed toward the captain’s cabin.
A woman with long black hair in a red silk gown came to the side of the ship. Her dark eyes were lined with charcoal, her lips tinted cherry red. Her dress was cut along the length her legs to her hips, a stark contrast to the high-necked top secured by silk latches.
“Coming aboard, handsome?” she asked, fingering the lapel of my coat.
“We’ll see in a moment,” I said, eyeing the direction toward which the guard had gone.
“Such a rugged face,” she said, gently stroking my cheek.
I grinned.
“And dimples too,” she said, toying with my chin. “Good looking man like you, don’t you have a girl?”
I smirked. I did. A lot of them, actually. “Not tonight. Why, you want to be my girl?”
She laughed, her voice sounding like a tinkling bell. “Maybe. But I’m quite expensive,” she said, leaning in to whisper the last part.
“Really? Why?”
“Well, in China I learned to—” she was about to whisper something wonderfully obscene in my ear when the door to the captain’s cabin opened. The gruff-looking commander appeared. He looked from the Mechanica berthed in front of him then back to me. He nodded to me, tilting his head toward the prow of the ship, then headed toward the wheelstand. With a whistle, he signaled to the crew in the balloon basket to fire up the ship.
