Of Bondlings and Blesh Chapter 40

Chapter 40

The table was littered with formal New Year greetings – glancing at the largest, it bore the seal of King Trevor of the Meadowlands in violet coloured wax. Both of the pieces of meat on my plate looked inedible, and I’d decided to confine my attentions to the over-cooked vegetables. As usual in my father’s dining room, a loud scrabbling from the skirting boards betrayed the presence of unseen mice. The midday sunshine, invested with that peculiar brightness seen only on snowy days, revealed half a dozen wine bottles scattered over the floor – the debris of the previous evening’s celebrations.

When my father had invited me to lunch, on New Year’s Day, I felt that it could bode no good. My first thought had been to make an excuse. It was unlikely that he was summoning me for traditional greetings. A little reflection showed that postponing the meeting would serve no useful purpose, and my father probably had things to say that I needed to hear – just as Wilfred Addal had done the previous day.

“Well, daughter,” my father began, “I have two things to tell you – one sombre, the other joyful. Which would you prefer to hear first?”

“The sweet is always served after the main course[1]. I’ll begin with the gloomy news.”

“As you will probably guess, it follows from last night’s terrorist outrage. A state of emergency now exists. This morning, I have consulted at length with Lord Higate…”

“Lord Higate, father?”

“Of course Lord Higate – he already had charge of the guards who are Lundin’s defence. Now, I’ve also placed in his hands our precautions against terrorism. All in all, I have assigned to him very wide-ranging powers – for our security. Amongst his new responsibilities, he will assign officers to take care of Mr Addal’s duties.”

“Father, do you think that wise?”

“Wise? I have no alternative. Are we to wait until I, myself, am assassinated?”

“Of course not, father. I just wonder whether Lord Higate is the man for so much power. You have other generals.”

“Yes – but I can’t assign internal security to Sir Garrafad of the Mount. It’s no secret that, when the opportunity presents, we are to invade Surrey, and Sir Garrafad must be in readiness to command the expedition. Giving so much power to that backdoor bandit, Eric Marsh, is unthinkable. And worst of all is Bob Bosset – such a common man should never have been promoted to general – I must have taken leave of my senses.”

“General Bosset seems able enough, father. The guard are very well trained[2].”

“That’s as maybe, but a general needs breeding. Bosset’s father was a vulgar tradesman. Dreadful! Really, dreadful.”

“I’m sorry father, I didn’t realise[3].”

“You’re not to be blamed if you assumed breeding from his rank. The son of trade taking command is an outrage. Why ever did I permit it? Too late to do anything about it now, anyway.”

“So you’re not thinking of demoting him?”

“No, certainly not. This is no time to disrupt troop training. But I couldn’t think of giving him additional power. Could I, now?”

“As you say, father. But how does the state of emergency affect me?”

“Your movements will be more constrained than before. There is to be a strict passport system – both for entry and exit to Lundin, and for the palace grounds. The likes of Miss Miles taking you down to the river, as a Solstice treat, will become more difficult.”

“But, father, how can that work? Lundin depends upon food from outside. Will every peddler and market gardener have to apply for a passport?”

“Lord Higate and I have discussed that matter fully. There are to be two kinds of passport. One is a permanent document for persons whose regular business involves passing through the gates – most of these, I think, will be issued to members of the guard. When these are presented at the gates, the guard will note them in a logbook, so we know who has been coming and going.”

“And the second kind?”

“Will be issued by the guards at the gates to people entering on legitimate business – the likes of peddlers and market gardeners – then handed back, as the people leave the palace or the city. They will have counterfoils, which will be returned to the palace for checking. If we have counterfoils for which the passports are not returned, those responsible will be hunted down. The usual penalty will be enslavement.

“Couldn’t I have a permanent passport, father? I am a princess, after all.”

“What nonsense! Certainly not. The only persons to have permanent passports by virtue of the Blood Victoria in their veins are me and your brother – and so it will remain. Should it be necessary for you leave the palace, you’ll be issued with a temporary passport – and, as you have personage in absolute[4], you would be whipped for abusing it.”

“I’m whipped too much as it is,” I said sourly. “Miss Miles whips me in the schoolroom and drill yard. Then Captain Grace says that he intends to whip me some more, if we should marry.”

“A little chastisement from your governess and your husband, as he would be, is entirely right and proper. I hope that you’re not trying to complain. A judicial beating for passport abuse would be quite another matter – fastened to a public whipping post, and serve you right. Is that understood?”

“Yes, father.”

“Good. Unless you have further questions, I think that covers the subject of passports.”

“Only one question – what’s the joyful news?”

“That I’ve consented to your marriage.”

“To whom, father?”

“To Captain Grace, of course. You had only three suitors. Lord Up Minester struck me as a ninny – and those lime green pantaloons, what was he thinking? Baron Leopold of Fleet – in that ladies’ dress – was lucky not to be arrested under the Edict for the Suppression of Nancy Boys.”

“And if I don’t consent to the match?”

“It makes no difference at all. Ordinarily, I’d set the wedding for next Briday – that’s five days hence, plenty of time for the preparations. However, I regret that your fiancé will be preoccupied with other matters, and have no time for girls. He’s investigating the death of Wilfred Addal – a most urgent business – so your marriage will have to be postponed for a week or two.”

“I see. If I am engaged to be married, will you still expect me to attend Miss Miles’ morning lessons?”

“Most certainly. In fact, I discussed the matter with your fiancé. He is minded that you should also attend afternoon lessons, after the wedding – but that is his business, entirely. While you remain my responsibility, I’m content enough for you to be at liberty in the afternoons.”

“Thank you, father.”

“I thought it right to tell you – after all, your life is about to change radically.”

“Father, what about my dance classes?” His last remark had reminded me of this. “May they continue? I suppose the tutor and the musicians will need passports to enter the palace.”

“I believe that the young women in question have been issued with permanent passports, as Sergeant General Bosset is using them for a training experiment connected with irregular troops. But I don’t see that your dancing classes need continue. As I understand it, a girl learning to dance is a means to attract suitors. What point would there be, now that you’re betrothed?”

“Perhaps Captain Grace will wish to dance after we’re married.”

“I am quite sure that he won’t be so foolish.”

“In any case, father, if the tutor and musicians will be here anyway – for Sergeant General Bosset – it would cost very little for them to provide dancing classes in addition. Extra value for your money.”

“That’s a good point. Very well, the dancing classes may continue until you’re married. After that, it will be Captain Grace’s decision. If I’m any judge of a man, he’ll be less indulgent than I am.”

The last sentence was surely an understatement. If I was any judge of the man, he would take joy in terminating anything I cherished. In view of my father imposing the marriage, and the confinement to the palace grounds, a temporary continuation of the dancing classes was a tiny concession. It was, in any case, something for which I’d pressed more on Fluff’s account than mine.

Rather to my surprise, a message was passed to Sarah James and the musicians in time for a dance class that afternoon. The session proved a disappointment. Without a performance in view, we lacked focus and, after the bad news at lunchtime, I was not in the space for such frivolity as practicing high kicks for their own sake. Alarmed – and astonished – to find myself in agreement with my father on the matter, I began to think that it really was pointless to continue the lessons.

By contrast, there was a new urgency to the arms training – my sword work had an extra, vicious, thrust – imagining Captain Grace’s blood flowing with every stroke. Acquiring an ability to kill had started as a means back to my mistress. The previous day, preserving Tuerquelle’s life had provided a powerful new motive. Now was added escape from a marriage too dreadful to be contemplated.

It was Modesty Clay’s first session, and I had no very high expectations for her performance. To my surprise and delight, she was – from the first – almost as good as any of us. She slipped easily into concert with me and the girls – largely, I felt sure, as a result of having danced with us in a chorus line. Beyond that, she seemed to have almost a natural rapport with the blade – it occurred to me that her sword work was aimed at old resentments.

Considering that we were lovers, I knew remarkably little about her. Until the Solstice, I hadn’t even known her first name. The use of the title Mrs implied that there had once been a Mr Clay – of whom I knew nothing but his sex and surname. The alacrity with which she’d taken up the offer of arms training implied that her experience of life left her with little hesitation in becoming a killer.

Towards the end of the old year, we’d had a couple of sessions in armour. The supposedly light steel cuirass proved heavy, leaving me wondering what a full weight one would be like. My padded leather was stiff and cumbersome, rendering the dance movements clumsy. As Modesty did not yet have any armour, we dispensed with ours that day, which came as a relief – although I remained painfully aware of the necessity of learning how to fight whilst so encumbered.

“Wow, Modesty,” I said, as we laid our swords aside, “you’re a natural. I kind of have the impression there’s someone you’d like to kill.”

“There are enough people I’d enjoy killing. For a little while, you were one of them.”

“After I whipped you, on my first day back in the palace?”

“Of course.”

“But you don’t want to kill me any more?”

“Oh, no,” she replied, goosing me slowly and deliberately. “Now, I can think of much better things to do to you.”

Turning, I kissed her, without haste and tenderly, convinced that not only didn’t I know her, but never would. There was in her, I sensed, much – representing whole phases of her life – that would be forever closed to me. Up to a point, I was welcome as a companion, and as a lover – but no further. Her inner core was more private than that of anyone I’d previously attempted to know.

After the training, we shared several bottles of wine with Fluff and Bob Bosset. The company was exactly as it had been at the Solstice. The similarities and differences between the two occasions underlined Modesty’s observation of the previous night – that the game was over, things had become serious. An innocence had departed from our lives.

The following morning saw the resumption of schoolroom lessons. Miss Miles was in a particularly vicious mood, punishing us furiously at the smallest pretext. Sufficient excuses to thrash us were provided by the most difficult Comday morning test of my experience. There was little consolation in the fact that Phoebe and Mary received more merciless treatment than me.

“Please, miss,” Phoebe had asked before the test, “how is your aunt? The one you spent Solstice and New Year with, miss?”

“Yes, miss,” Mary added, “I hope she’s well. Her health seemed to really worry you, miss.”

“My beloved aunt is very well,” she replied with no pleasure in her voice. “Although I don’t know what affair it is of yours – either of you. Is this some attempt at insolence, children? Well?”

“No, miss,” they chorused.

“I’m not convinced of that. Moreover, your grammar is in urgent need of correction. Phoebe – you should not leave a preposition hanging at the end of a sentence. The one you spent Solstice and New Year with is a ghastly construction. The correct form should be: The one with whom you spent Solstice and New Year.

“Yes, miss. Sorry, miss.”

“As to you, Mary, I am appalled – simply appalled – to hear a split infinitive drop from your lips. Do you know to which phrase I refer, child?”

“No, miss.”

“Utterly appalling. Have I taught you nothing, girl?”

“No, miss.”

“That was most certainly a piece of gross insolence. So – you believe that I have taught you nothing. It seems to me that, had I thrashed you harder and more often, I might have done better.”

“Sorry, miss. I meant…”

“Quiet! I will hear not another word from you! For your information, the split infinitive was to really worry you. The correct form is really to worry you – do you understand that?”

“Yes, miss. It does really worry me, miss.”

“Does it, indeed? And does it worry you as well, Phoebe?”

“Yes, miss, it does.”

“Would it surprise the pair of you to know that I was not attempting to say anything about your being worried? I was trying to drum correct syntax into your stupid heads. Phoebe – what is syntax – and how is the word spelt?”

“I’m not sure what it means, miss, but is it spelt S-I-N…?”

“No, it is not! That spells sin – which exactly describes your ignorance and insolence. Mary! Can you tell me what syntax is, and how it’s spelt?”

“I’m sorry, miss, I don’t know what it means, either. Is it spelt C-I-N…?”

“No, it most certainly isn’t! Margaret? How about you? How is your ignorance this morning?”

“Please, miss, syntax is the set of rules that govern the order of words in sentences. It’s spelt S-Y-N-T-A-X.”

“That, Margaret, is precisely correct. I am gratified that ignorance does not reign entirely unchallenged in this classroom. As to you – Phoebe and Mary – you have shown yourselves not only dreadfully ignorant, but have made remarks that I can only interpret as the grossest impertinence. What do you think I should do about that?”

“Spank us, miss?” Phoebe answered.

“I could do that, of course. What do you think, Mary?”

“Yes, miss. Spank us, miss.”

“Well – since you both have your hearts set on being spanked – it would be a shame to disappoint you. I will start, then, with a thorough spanking for each of you. However, my feeling is that my hand, however hard it may be, can’t provide the complete answer. So – once your bottoms are thoroughly warm – it will be right to continue with the strap.”

Partly aghast, and partly relieved not to be directly involved, I watched as Miss Miles applied the most vicious punishments I’d seen her administer. As she wielded the strap, the governess’ face revealed a mixture of anger, malevolence and deep satisfaction. My feeling was that grammar mistakes and possible insolence were no more than pretexts for the thrashings. The real reason, no doubt, lay in the aunt’s improved health placing the inheritance beyond her grasp.

“Well, Margaret,” she said with an unpleasant smile, as Phoebe and Mary took their seats very gingerly, “I see from the hour glass that the punishments have taken rather a long time. We’re running a little behind schedule and I can see no remedy but for our taking lunch later than usual. I assume that you will have no objection to your afternoon’s liberty beginning a little later than it generally does. Or do you object, child?”

“No, miss. I don’t object at all, miss.”

“Splendid! I’m gratified to see that you are mindful of your education. Some girls would be anxious to begin their hours of idleness.”

“Not me, miss. Although it may make me late for my dance class, miss.”

“I expect that your dance instructor knows the remedy for tardiness as well as I do, Margaret. Well, I’m sure that an extra thrashing could do you no harm, girl… Let us proceed, then, to this morning’s test. I’m sure you’re all eager for a chance to display your knowledge.”

Once the test was over, it was time for drill – and we started to hurry toward the changing room, until Miss Miles insisted on our walking at a sedate pace. Not content with that, the governess ordered us back to the schoolroom to start the short walk again, this time adhering strictly to the bounds of what she considered seemly. Before setting off a second time, each of us received several strokes of the cane upon our extended palms. A little reminder, she said, that we were required to be young ladies rather than street urchins.

Although the changing room was extremely cold, each of us was careful not to show unseemly haste in exchanging our schoolroom uniforms for drill kit. When we were naked, Miss Miles decided that it was an appropriate time to check our personal hygiene. We shivered as the fully clothed governess inspected us in a leisurely fashion. Tipsi having been more than usually thorough with my morning bath, I was the only one to escape a further application of the cane.

Drill itself was conducted in the yard, in spite of an inch of snow on the ground. The low temperature, and frosted windows, ensured that we had few spectators – but I’d have preferred warmth and a yard filled with idlers. In the circumstances, Miss Miles had nothing about which to complain, as far as our energy was concerned. Compacted snow, however, soon made the ground slippery under our feet and the governess interpreted any difficulty in retaining balance as larking about – something to which her reaction was inevitable.

After returning to the schoolroom, a slave whom I didn’t recognise brought Miss Miles a note, and waited for her to write a reply. This took quite a while because the note was clearly a long one – as was her response. As far as I could gauge, the governess regarded it as good news. Her smile seemed to convey genuine pleasure – although it was not unmixed with malice.

“Congratulations, Margaret,” she said after the slave departed. “I’m pleased that you are to be married, and your fiancé seems a fine man.”

“Thank you, miss.”

“Your marriage will, of course, affect your attendance in my classes. I think that we need to review your educational requirements. We lack the time to consider the matter during morning lessons – therefore, I will expect you to be at my rooms at half past seven this evening. Is that understood?”

“Yes, miss.”

“And you will be there?”

“Yes, miss. That is, if you tell me where your rooms are, miss.”

“On the long gallery of the second floor. Apartment six-four-seven. Will that enable you to find your way, child?”

“Yes, miss. Of course, miss. I know the gallery, miss.”

“Good. I will expect you to be on time, every bit as much as I do for morning lessons. You will, of course, wear your schoolroom uniform for the occasion. This is formal business, an educational matter.”

“Yes, miss. Of course, miss.”

Although hurrying straight from the schoolroom lunch, I was about half an hour late for the dance class. While there was no question of my being spanked, Sarah James was clearly displeased, as were the other girls – only the musicians seemed unperturbed. Our instructor had clearly worked hard to devise a fresh piece of choreography. To incorporate me into the steps, it was necessary to return to the beginning.

It was well that I picked up the new steps, however imperfectly, for they were absorbed into the arms training. On this, only her second session, Modesty moved with such fluidity that I wondered whether she had handled a sword before. An unworthy emotion had me looking forward to our next practice with the crossbow – because I was confident of putting a newcomer to shame with the bow. Realising how small minded that was – and how such an attitude could mar the success of our passage into Surrey – I emerged from the training shed feeling a little depressed.

At least five minutes remained before half past seven when, in schoolroom uniform, I rapped on Miss Miles’ door. As there was no immediate response, I waited – wondering whether it would be right to knock again. It was impossible to calculate whether I was more likely to be punished for tardiness, on failing to make my presence known, or for the impatience implied by not waiting quietly. The idea that Miss Miles might be elsewhere passed fleetingly through my mind, but I dismissed the notion as grossly improbable.

“Come!” called Miss Miles when, at last, I was on the point of knocking again.

“Yes, miss,” I replied, pushing open the door.

The action brought me into a small living room, less than half the size of mine. A settee designed to sit two people was the only piece of comfortable furniture. Apart from that, there was a small bookshelf, three hard chairs and a desk – on this last rested the schoolroom cane and strap. Miss Miles was standing, Captain Grace lounged on the sofa.

“Margaret – you will stand, and stand straight, just to the left of the door, with your hands on your head. You will face us, and you will not speak unless you are asked to do so. Is that understood, girl?”

“Yes, miss,” I said, assuming the required position.

“We have called you here to consider your educational needs after you are married. Although we require your presence, we do not wish your opinions. You are to pay attention to what we say and do, but to pass no comment upon it. Do you see my desk, girl?”

“Yes, miss.”

“What do you see upon it?”

“The schoolroom cane and strap, miss.”

“Good. And do you, in any way, dispute my right to use them upon you?”

“No, miss.”

“Do you think that you are likely to receive them this evening?”

“I will try to do nothing to deserve a thrashing, miss.”

“That did not answer my question, young lady. I didn’t ask whether you would deserve them, but whether you expected to be thrashed. The question of whether you merit punishment is not your concern – it is entirely my decision. Or do you disagree, child?”

“No, miss. I don’t disagree.”

“And do you expect me to thrash you this evening, girl?”

“Yes, miss, I do.” It was the truth.

“You see,” Miss Miles continued, speaking to Captain Grace now, “she is tolerably polite and obedient. Of course, there is much work to do before we will be able to consider her conduct and speech entirely satisfactory. And the way she spoke to you at the ball is wholly inexcusable.”

“Indeed, it was, Miss Miles. When she and I are married, I’ll certainly thrash her soundly for that insolence. However, until we are joined in wedded bliss, it is right to leave her discipline entirely in your hands. May I speak to her directly?”

“Feel free to do so, Captain Grace.”

“Well, young lady,” he said, rising from the settee and pressing my chin upwards with his left hand, “it’s good to see you curbing your tongue. From now onwards you will speak to me only when required, and you will call me sir. Is that clearly understood?”

“Yes, sir,” I said with some difficultly, owing to the pressure of his fingers on my jaw.

“Good… Miss Miles, while I don’t doubt your skill, I’d like to reassure myself. Would you be good enough to demonstrate how you deal with this young lady? Just so that I’m able to observe.”

“Of course, Captain Grace. How would you like me to begin?”

“A simple over the knee spanking, I think. We can move on from there.”

“Well, Margaret,” said Miss Miles, seating herself on one of the hard chairs, “I’m sure you heard your fiancé. Assume the position, girl.”

Aware that the consequences of disobedience would be most unwelcome, I did as she had bidden. There followed as thorough a spanking as I’d ever received from her. Afterwards, with me bent over the desk, Miss Miles demonstrated her ability with first the cane and then the strap. Before she was done, I sobbed uncontrollably.

“Stop blubbing, girl,” Miss Miles said, “you great baby. I’m sure that Captain Grace will make your bottom smart a great deal more than that. He’s a man – I’m only a weak woman.”

“Another half dozen might do it – or make it eight for good measure – continuing with that excellent strap,” said Captain Grace.

“If we’re approaching the end, I’ll make them good and smart. Brace yourself, girl, these are going to hurt.”

“Excellent, Miss Miles,” Captain Grace said at last, “really excellent. And not, I judge, too weak. She may have received sufficient for now. I think that we can move on to our other concerns.”

“Certainly,” Miss Miles replied, with a rough movement tugging the knickers over my injured bottom – it felt swollen to several times its usual size. “Margaret, return to your place by the door. Hands back on top of your head, and stand straight. Bear in mind that I won’t hesitate to punish any slackness – and I’m sure you know the drill by now.”

“Yes, miss,” I said, doing as instructed, and trying to stifle my tears.

“We wish you to observe what happens now,” said Captain Grace, “it will give you some idea of your future place in my household. I will explain afterwards. In the meantime you are to watch, but not to speak. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good… Now, Miss Miles, will you join me on the settee?”

“With pleasure, Captain Grace.”

As I watched, the governess placed herself next to him on the couch. He wrapped his arms about her, and lowered his lips to hers. The kiss continued for several minutes – involving, it was clear, open mouths and extended tongues. The Captain removed his left hand from her waist and started to explore inside Miss Miles’ skirt.

It was soon obvious that he was masturbating her. A little clumsily, with his free hand, Captain Grace unbuttoned her blouse, before starting to bite her shoulder. She gave vent to a loud orgasmic cry, then another. The movement of his hand inside her skirt redoubled its intensity.

They rolled from the settee to the floor. The Captain unfastened his breeches and pushed the skirt up into a bundle about her waist. His penis was amongst the larger ones of my considerable experience. Pulling aside the crotch of her clearly soggy briefs, he entered her, bucking and thrusting with considerable force.

The act of penetrative sex was soon over. He rose from her and, both of them adjusting their clothing, they resumed their seats on the couch. After a few moments, Captain Grace withdrew the now flaccid penis from his flies and sat with that organ displayed – probably as a sign that I could expect no concessions to my sensibilities. The two of them sat silently for some minutes, staring in my direction.

“As you have seen, girl,” he said at last, “your governess and I have become good friends. Each of us is helping the other. I think, for example, that my guardsmen will be of considerable help in hastening Miss Miles’ inheritance from her beloved aunt. My intention is that the intimacy you have just witnessed should continue after our marriage.”

“I trust that it will,” said Miss Miles, fingers brushing his penis.

“The way I see things shaping up, young lady, is that we will act almost as your adoptive parents. I’ve spoken to your brother. He’s particularly anxious that you should have no more children – they could muddy the line of succession. So Miss Miles will be the only one I penetrate in the manner approved by the law and the gods.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” the governess said, with obvious satisfaction.

“I hope, Miss Miles, you won’t object if, occasionally, I take my wife by her rear passage. Her brother has urged me to do so, and – as heir to the chieftaincy – we should respect his wishes.”

“That seems entirely reasonable to me. She will be your wife, after all, and you should have some way to take her. Without that, how is she to appreciate her obligations to you?”

“That is an excellent point, Miss Miles. You have a fine mind – a rare thing in a woman. I feel that thrusting into her rear passage would be especially fitting after a beating, and I’m sure she’ll merit being thrashed many times.”

“I’m in complete agreement, and won’t be in the least jealous. Well – perhaps I might feel perhaps just a tinge of jealousy. But, should that happen, I don’t expect you’ll mind me chastising her to relieve my feelings.”

“Miss Miles, I would expect you to do so. It’s a pleasure to be so completely in accord with a person of either sex. I have no hesitation in entrusting to you the moral guidance, day-to-day discipline and schooling of my future wife.”

“You said that, after her marriage, Margaret should probably attend the schoolroom in the afternoon, as well as the morning. I assume that still holds, Captain Grace.”

“The only alteration I’d make to that is to change probably to definitely.”

My mind returned to what Modesty had said, the night before, of the game being over. Things were, indeed, serious. Somehow, come what may, the plans that had been made for me must be thwarted. Sooner rather than later, I thought, it would be necessary to kill Captain Grace, an idea that left me without qualms – I’d have liked to slay Miss Miles as well, but suspected that she would be spared.

My fiancé kissed the governess affectionately on her cheek, they both laughed, expressive of self-satisfaction, rather than mirth. Briefly leaving the room, the Captain returned with a bottle of wine, while Miss Miles fetched two glasses. Someone passing along the second floor gallery sang discordantly – a male voice – hail stones rattled loudly at the window. Hands still placed on top of my head, my arms ached – but remained a great deal less painful than my bottom.

[1] The sweet is always served after the main course – may be a reference to the all but inedible main course on the table, a comparison between the bad news and the bad meal. It is unclear whether the meal included a sweet or, if so, whether it was any more edible.

[2] The guard are very well trained was, no doubt, a defence of Tuerqui’s friend, Bob Bosset. In fact, the actions in which the Lundin guard took part indicate that many of the troops were poorly trained. However, this seems to have reflected budgetary constraints and the quality of the recruits, rather than Sergeant General Bosset’s abilities.

[3] It is hard to see how Tuerqui could have failed to realise this.

[4] Personage in absolute – see Chapter 1, note 2.

For Chapter 41 click
http://bondlings.blogspot.com/2007/12/of-bondlings-and-blesh-chapter-41.html

Of Bondlings and Blesh Chapter 39

Chapter 39

From beyond the frost crazed windows, crows sounded their dismal note. The room was cold and smelt of smoke. This was the most austere inhabited chamber I’d seen in my father’s palace – the uncarpeted floor was of rough boards, the furniture comprised an unpolished table, two hard chairs and a great many filing cabinets. The Spymaster General was attacking, with a poker, the charred remains of papers that filled a large fireplace.

When Wilfred Addal invited Lisa-Louise and me to his office, on New Year’s Eve[1], it felt as though we were in serious trouble. My first thought had been that we shouldn’t go. It was unlikely that he was summoning us for seasonal drinks. A little reflection showed that, short of leaving Lundin, for which our weapons skills seemed insufficient, it would be foolish to defy one of the half dozen most powerful men in the palace.

In response to our knock, he had uttered the single word come. Opening the door, we found him staring into the grate and poking at the ashes, seemingly oblivious to our presence. He remained silent for what seemed a long time although, with no timepiece in the room, I couldn’t be sure. When at last he spoke, I’d decided that he had changed his mind about wishing to talk to us, and was thinking that perhaps we had better leave.

“Lisa-Louise, your conduct has been scandalous, and any love I once bore you is cancelled. And yet…”

“And yet, uncle?”

“And yet my love for your late mother remains. It is for her sake that I have burnt every paper I held relating to you and Princess Margaret – or should I call her Tuerqui? Over the last few months, your affairs have not been possible to separate. No more than it is now possible to separate the individual papers in the grate.”

“Were all those ashes to do with us, uncle?”

“Yes, they were.”

“It looks like hundreds of pages.”

“One thousand, seven hundred and forty-two.”

“But why?”

“Why so many pages – or why burn them?”

“I think I can guess some of the reasons for there being so many pages.”

“I’m sure that you can.”

“So, uncle, why burn them? You seem reluctant to tell me.”

“Because, niece, there is a possibility that this will be the last day of my life. If I die tonight, some of these papers would have been death warrants for the pair of you – and for your slave friends. On that account, and for the sake of your mother, I have burnt them all.”

“But, uncle, why should you die tonight?”

“Maybe I’ll survive, the future remains a blank book[2]. But, as you know, there is a traitor in this palace – a highly placed and extremely dangerous traitor. Don’t try to look so innocent. Did you imagine that I wouldn’t recognise Barguin’s handwriting in that note giving me the location of the Warrick sword?”

“I never thought…”

“That is probably very nearly true – you should start thinking, and quickly. The traitor is too well placed to arrest without overpowering evidence – and now, on this last day of the year, that evidence is complete. So, tonight, either the traitor will be arrested, or he will have me killed. It’s too early to say which.”

“Arrest him? Wouldn’t it be less dangerous to kill him?”

“Certainly. But much of treason remains hidden – inside his head. I can’t afford to lose so much information of peril to the state. It’s essential that he’s put to the question[3].”

“But why risk your life, uncle? Couldn’t you…?”

“Whatever it is, I probably couldn’t. But the why is simple enough – an old fashioned thing called duty. You probably wouldn’t understand. When the soldier hears the bugle call, he is at the enemy – however unlikely he is to survive.”

“Yet, in spite of your sense of duty you burnt the papers. You really did love mother.”

“My conscience is clear on that point. Although the documents recounted a great deal of misconduct, there was nothing to threaten the state. Or – at least – neither of you poses the threat.”

“I’m sorry, uncle. I never realised that duty weighed so heavy with you.”

“You have much for which to be sorry, niece. As to duty, how else could I justify a career of snooping? Do you think I enjoy sticking my nose into the rotting under bellies of people’s lives?”

“Thank you, uncle.”

“Thank you? For doing my duty?”

“Thank you for burning the papers. Your kindness may save our lives. Thank you, too, for not acting on the information you had on us. We could have been in serious trouble.”

“It isn’t kindness – or not toward either of you. It is, as I said, the love I bear your mother. Princess Margaret has benefited simply because I couldn’t incriminate her, without incriminating you. In fact, none of her trouble has been my doing.”

“But,” I said – speaking for the first time, “didn’t you tell father that I’d gone with you to the sign of the Shafted Surrey Lass? When we collected semen samples from the pollygoggers.”

“Not I. Captain Headley reported it to Lord Higate – and it was he who told your father. You can thank him for every thrashing you’ve had from Miss Miles. It may please you that I have not destroyed her file.”

“Is Miss Miles a traitor?”

“Not to the state. She may be a traitor towards the aunt she’s visiting – in the hope that the old woman will die and leave her fortune to her niece. Much of the governess’ file is what you must already guess. You can’t have failed to notice the delight she takes in beating girls.”

“A sexual thing?”

“Call it what you like, Princess Tuerqui.”

“And you’ve really reported nothing about me to my father?”

“Nothing about what you’ve done since you became involved with my niece. I passed on everything discoverable about your time in Surrey. Just doing my duty, as I saw it – but, now, I wish I hadn’t revealed it all.”

“Why not? What harm could it do?”

“Do you know that, when circumstances permit, your father intends to send an army into Surrey?”

“I don’t think that’s a secret, Mr Addal.”

“No more it is. Nor are most of the objectives for the invasion – seizing slaves, and other plunder – annexing territory, if possible. But there is also something called Operation Fourskin. Have you heard of that?”

“No, I haven’t. What is it?”

“By rights, I shouldn’t tell you – but doing so may even the score. It is aimed at four persons or slaves who have, your father feels, defiled the honour of the Blood Victoria. One, your former mistress Isobel Ironhand, is to be re-enslaved. The other three are to be killed – Madame Scurf and Sam the carter…”

“You said three were to be killed? Who is the third?”

“Can’t you guess?”

“Tuerquelle! My precious Tuerquelle! Tell me it isn’t her!”

“If I did, what use would the lie be to you? Now – perhaps you girls will run along. I have a traitor to arrest, and it won’t be easily accomplished – if at all.”

Walking slowly to the door, I was numb, drained of all feeling. The monstrosity of killing my daughter placed me, for the moment, beyond tears. Out in corridor, anger replaced numbness. My father deserved to die – deserved to die slowly and horribly – I knew where Bob Bosset kept the Surrey infantry swords, and stepped purposefully to arm myself.

“Tuerqui! Where are you going?” Lisa-Louise asked. “I’ve never seen you so… Stop!”

“Don’t tell me what to do. I know what to do. He’s going to die.”

“Who, Tuerqui? Who?”

“That sack of shit, my father. I’m going to kill him. The sword goes in at the crotch and the wound extends to the neck. Slowly.”

“Don’t, Tuerqui! Don’t! Think!”

“I have thought.”

“No you haven’t, Tuerqui. If your father dies, your brother with succeed him. He’s no less cruel. He’ll have you executed, for sure, and then who will save Tuerquelle?”

Stopping abruptly, I shuddered – Lisa-Louise was right in every particular. Then my tears started to flow – one dribbling down each cheek before the torrent was unloosed. Unable to see, I felt arms encircling me, holding gently at first, but increasingly tight about my shoulders. For what seemed a long time, my companion and temporary mistress clung to me, and I to her – weeping and shuddering convulsively.

“Mistress,” I said at last, “I told you not to tell me what to do. I’m the worst slave who ever lived.”

“Never mind about that. We need to think about how we’re going to save Tuerquelle.”

“How we’re going to save Tuerquelle?”

“Yes – how we’re going to save Tuerquelle – everyone from the arms training. And it’s almost time for our dancing class. The final rehearsal for tonight’s chorus line routine.”

“Mistress, I’m sorry, I’m really not in the space for that.”

“Oh yes you are, Tuerqui. We need to tighten the bonds between us, not loosen them. Tuerquelle’s life depends upon it. Which reminds me – ever since the Solstice, I’ve been thinking it was a mistake to exclude Mrs Clay from the arms training. What do you say we invite her in?”

“An extra sword to save my daughter?”

“An extra sword to save your daughter. We need everyone we can get.”

“Yes, mistress, please invite her. I’ve been thinking that we should have included Modesty – ever since the beautiful love we made on Solstice night.”

“Modesty, Tuerqui?”

“It’s Mrs Clay’s name, mistress. It doesn’t much suit her but…”

Thinking on the contrast between the name and the woman made me laugh. Suddenly, I felt that – acting together – we really might save Tuerquelle from my father’s men. Numbness, anger and grief were now succeeded by a sense of purpose – the girls and I would rehearse together, train in arms together and ultimately we would, together, protect my daughter. Arm in arm, Lisa-Louise and I strode to the rehearsal space.

“Tuerqui!” Fluff exclaimed as we entered, “you’ve been crying. What’s the matter?”

“We’ll come to that in a minute,” said Lisa-Louise. “We need to talk before we rehearse. Mrs Clay – Modesty – I think you’ve been feeling left out.”

“Yes, I’ve had a feeling that you were all up to something behind my back. Doing something that excluded me.”

“You’re right, Modesty. All of us, apart from you and Fluff, have been engaged in arms training. The idea was to provide protection for Tuerqui returning to her mistress. Now, I want to ask you to join us.”

“Why now?”

“Because we all feel closer to you, after the Solstice. Also, our purpose has changed a bit… But we’ll come to that in a while.”

“I see. Isn’t it a bit late? You’ve all got a long start on me.”

“We’re learning to fight as a chorus line. Without knowing it, you’ve already done a lot of useful training – in the dance classes. Modesty – please – we want you with us. Won’t you accept?”

“Exchange housekeeping for the life of a warrior girl?”

“That’s about it. Are you in or out?”

“I’m in.”

“Good! Since we started the project, things have changed quite a bit. For one thing, we’ve all come to love Fluff – and her Bobbikins.”

“Do you want me to join you as well?” Fluff asked.

“No – that is we want you, but not as a warrior girl. You should stay here and have Bob Bosset’s babies. And you’ll be helping us in doing that, too. It’ll bring us closer to your husband – and our training is in his hands.”

“You said my husband,” Fluff said. “Sorry, I’m still not used to it. Seems too good to be true.”

“Well – it is true,” Diqui confirmed. “We all saw you married, Lady Fluff.”

“I mentioned Fluff and Bob,” Lisa-Louise continued, “because Tuerqui needs to leave the palace without causing them any trouble. If she leaves with us – or at any time with a sword in her hand – they’ll know that Bob’s been training her. We need to think about that, but I’m sure it can be done so as not to incriminate our friends.”

“It must be done!” I said.

“Yes, it must. And, as of this afternoon, we have an additional objective. It’s why Tuerqui’s been crying. Her father plans to send men into Surrey to murder her daughter – and we’re the ones to stop them.”

There followed a discussion of these matters which, I realised at once, served to strengthen our common purpose. The first evidence of the strengthening came when we started to rehearse – more than ever, we moved as one. Imagining them connecting with the tender parts of Tuerquelle’s would-be murderers, my high kicks were little short of spectacular. When Sarah James pronounced us almost good enough for the Lundin Follies, it was the simple truth.

In spite of my father’s usual parsimony, the masque was magnificent. In the great ballroom, costumes of every colour shimmered in the light of huge chandeliers. An eight piece orchestra, although comprised of guardsmen in uniform, played extraordinarily well – mostly intricate dances, the steps of which I didn’t know – but neither, it seemed, did anyone else. Slaves decorated with tall plumes carried platters of delicate roast meat patties and trays of dainty drinks.

The occasion might have been a delight – but for several factors, paramount amongst which was the knowledge that the host, my father, planned to murder my daughter. Mingling with the company, his claw-like fingers extended repeatedly to take persons by the hand. The previous day, I had disliked the old man – but, now, watching him mingle with the guests was all but unbearable. When he approached me, my anger rose afresh and was a struggle to subdue.

Beyond that – the persons, company and attentions of my three suitors were unwelcome. Their only saving grace lay in observing the hostility with which they regarded one another. Each did his best to prevent his rivals from speaking or dancing with me – occasionally coming close to blows. The downside of this was its being, for much of the evening, hard to escape the clutches of at least one of them.

Perhaps Lord Up Minester was the least odious of the suitors. Seeming no worse than a clumsy bore – he trod on my feet when we attempted to dance, while his conversation was of the game of black ball and the rival merits of different types of carriage. As far as I could gather through his costume and mask, his person was no more congenial than his dancing or talk. He wore lime green, clashing hideously with my flower fairy dress, which was pink.

Baron Leopold of Fleet seemed a simpering and lecherous moron. When we danced, his fingers wriggled toward my intimate parts and were difficult to dislodge. The lips beneath his mask were wet and flabby – he had a tendency to dribble. His costume was a peach coloured lady’s dress decorated with ribbon and lace.

Captain Grace of the guard – by contrast – looked manly in black, studded with silver. He was the most forceful of three, succeeding in spending more than half of the evening with me. When we danced, he handled me possessively and with odious familiarity – he was strong, his hands less easy to dislodge than Baron Leopold’s. His fingerings seemed to evaluate me as a piece of livestock – something which should have been less disturbing than it was, in view of my slavery experience.

“I’m minded to marry you,” he said. “You’re no catch, but you have useful connections.”

“What if I turn you down?”

“Ha!” He snorted with laughter. “Why should I ask, you brainless cow? I’ll tell you whether we’re to marry, and take no argument, either.”

“Hey! I’m a princess.”

“You’re a stupid slut.”

“You’re a nasty...”

“Call me what you like – it’ll translate into extra thrashings when we’re married. I look forward to taking you in hand, you little spitfire. I’ll start by putting you over my knee for a damn good spanking – and work up from there. I’ve got a few things to make you squirm, make no mistake, and will most certainly collect some more.”

Looking into his eyes, I saw that he was entirely serious. His assurance made me feel that, should I remain in Lundin for too long, marriage to this man was inevitable. My father was determined that I should marry, and that evening had shown Captain Grace had the ability to overcome his rivals. It should be possible to postpone the wedding for weeks, if not months – by that time I might have the proficiency in arms to depart, but could have to remain longer to ensure Tuerquelle’s safety.

Sarah James and her musicians had arrived. The girls from the dance classes went into a side room to change. With a pang of disappointment, I felt sure that it would prove impossible to shake off Captain Grace in time to join them. Then a guardsman handed a note to my would-be husband.

“Duty calls,” he said, after reading it. “Enjoy the remainder of the ball – and look forward to our marriage. Should be an interesting wedding night.”

Then he was gone. My sudden deliverance seemed little short of miraculous. Evidently, Lord Up Minester and Baron Leopold had concluded that Captain Grace would command me for the remainder of the evening, for both had retired to another room – probably the buffet and bar. Taking advantage of the absence of suitors, I hurried to change.

Some of the other girls were already in costume. Modesty, and her stitch slaves, had created entirely new stagewear that I hadn’t seen before – apart from the mask, much skimpier than the things we had worn for rehearsals. By contrast, the masks – or hoods – covered each dancer’s entire head, with only a narrow slit for her eyes. The absence of recognisable faces was curiously arousing – it took an effort of will to keep my hands to myself.

“Hurry up, Tuerqui,” said a faceless one – Lisa-Louise’s voice. “You’re late, and holding us up.”

“Sorry, mistress,” I replied, struggling out the flower fairy costume. “I couldn’t get way from Captain Graceless. Bastard!”

Another dancer, already masked, helped me to undress. From her touch, I was pretty sure that she was Modesty Clay. Her fingers brushed me as only a lover’s would, and the points at which she lingered corresponded with what I knew of her tastes. In spite of the caressing touch, she worked efficiently, and soon I was naked.

“What happened to Captain Crap?” asked Diqui’s voice. “I glanced out to check on where you were. He was all over you – and then suddenly he wasn’t.”

“Called away on business. A guardsman handed him a note. Must have been something urgent.”

“A lucky break for you – and us. Bad for someone else, I expect.”

Modesty Clay’s touch was now helping me into a pair of glossy tights. Once they were in place, she guided my legs into the twin holes at the base of the costume proper. It was made of a stretchy fabric which, when pulled into position, fitted very snugly. Briefly, I was enveloped in blackness as she tugged the hood-mask over my head – a little adjustment allowed me to see through the eye slit, albeit with a restricted field of vision.

A hand on my bottom propelled me toward the stage – not Modesty this time, I felt sure. As the fingers stroked the base of my spine, it seemed probable that Diqui was the one to urge me forward. Sarah James, arranging us in sequence, took me by the right elbow. As far as I could determine, she had little trouble in identifying each of us – perhaps relying on our relative heights.

“Your highness, lords, ladies and gentleman,” said a male voice from the stage, “we will soon be entering the New Year. To see us past midnight, please welcome the masque showgirls!”

Then Amelia, Harriet and Jane broke into the introduction to our dance tune. The orchestra attempted to accompany them, although not very well. A moment later, we burst on to the stage, kicking high to rapturous applause. Although fearing disaster, to my surprise, the dancing was all but perfect – better even than the afternoon’s rehearsal.

The midnight bell tolled loudly, drowning the music – but we didn’t falter – the steps were almost instinctive. The clapper struck three times, then the fourth was overpowered by an even greater din, a noise that left my ears ringing. My immediate thought was that either a chandelier had fallen, or the ceiling had collapsed. Looking upwards, I had a momentary vision of a face, illuminated from beneath, malevolent eyes glaring down at us.

There were shrieks from the audience, but the drum, flute and squeezebox – no longer accompanied by the orchestra – rose above this new sound. Something dreadful had obviously happened – in spite of whatever disaster, the professional musicians clearly considered that the show must go on. In response, we continued our high kicks – it didn’t occur to me to do otherwise. Completing the routine, and leaving the stage, some of the audience clapped politely.

“What happened?” Lisa-Louise asked, ripping off her hood-mask.

“I think a body fell through the large skylight,” said Barguin.

“Uncle Wilfred, it’s got to be,” Lisa-Louise said, hurrying to the ballroom door.

Following her, mask still covering my face, I soon saw that both Barguin and she were correct. Wilfred Addal’s body, surrounded by broken wood and splintered glass, was contorted upon the dance floor. Snowflakes fluttered down upon him, reddening briefly before melting. Lord Higate, unmasked, looked down on the corpse – his alibi established, should he ever need one.

A man in black, studded with silver, entered the ballroom and strode toward the corpse. There was no difficulty in recognising Captain Grace’s costume, now without its mask. Its absence revealed a face I’d seen very recently – the man who had stared down from the skylight through which the spymaster had fallen. Having no wish to stand closer to Wilfred Addal’s murderer than was necessary, I scurried back to the changing room.

Once through the door, I pulled off the hood-mask, instantly increasing my field of vision. Fluff, Barguin and Diqui were struggling back into masque costumes, the musicians were packing away their instruments. Lisa-Louise, I knew, was standing by her uncle’s body. Starting to wriggle from my showgirl costume, I wondered where Sarah James, Modesty and Tipsi were.

“Tuerqui!” said Fluff. “Isn’t it awful? I know Mr Addal wasn’t a very nice man, but…”

“Yeah, and I know…”

Then I stopped myself before adding who killed him. It was dangerous knowledge, something with which I didn’t wish to burden Fluff. On reflection, I wasn’t sure who could, or should, be told – mentioning it to Lisa-Louise might possibly lead to an ill-advised course of revenge, on her uncle’s behalf. There was also the question of whether I had been the only one to see Captain Grace looking down from the shattered skylight.

“That is, did anyone see the killer?” I continued.

“Are you sure he was murdered, Tuerqui?” Fluff asked. “Perhaps he was spying on the dancers from the skylight, and slipped. It could be an accident.”

“Maybe you’re right, Fluff. It’s just that he has… I mean had enemies – and, if he was killed, we might have seen the murderer looking down on us.”

“I suppose we might,” said Harriet. “And I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m glad I didn’t.”

Eventually, I found Tipsi in my living room, huddled in an armchair – still in her showgirl costume, minus its hood-mask. She seemed badly affected by Wilfred Addal’s death. Without saying anything, I took the whisky bottle – brought from my father’s cellar as seasonal cheer – and poured her a stiff measure. As I handed her the glass, she looked at me enquiringly, shaking her head.

“Drink it down, Tipsi. You look as though you need it. Sorry it’s not as cheerful an occasion as when we were drunk at the Solstice. To judge from your name, you’d probably been drinking when you were enslaved – I couldn’t blame you, if you weren’t too keen on the stuff.”

“It’s not that, mistress. It’s true that I’d had a few glasses when the Lundin slavers came – it was my birthday party. But they’d have probably got me anyway. Isobel was sober enough that night, I think – and, of course, she was taken as well.

“What, then, Tipsi… sweetheart?”

“It just seems wrong for me to be drinking now, after what happened. You know, mistress, Mr Addal’s horrible… His being killed, mistress.”

“His death seems to have hit you pretty hard, Tipsi.”

“I think it was the shock, mistress. One minute we were dancing so well – it couldn’t have been lovelier. And then…”

“And then a dead spymaster dropped through a skylight. Tipsi – I wonder whether fighting your way into Surrey is right for you. Death is ugly. If you want out, please say so.”

“No, mistress, I’m sure I’ll be all right. It should be different if I go as a warrior girl, packing a sword. In any case, I want to help you return, and help save Tuerquelle, and I’d love to see Isobel again, mistress.”

“Are you really sure, Tipsi?”

“Yes, mistress, I’m really sure. No one’s going to kill your daughter if there’s anything I can do to stop them... This whisky is making me feel a bit better, too.”

“Maybe we should have a bottle or two in our saddlebags, when we go. As far as I’m concerned, Tipsi, I want you with me – but only if it’s right for you. Think about it, please.”

“I will, mistress, truly. But I don’t think this is a good moment for decisions.”

“You could be right. Did you see what happened to Sarah or Modesty?”

“I saw the guardsmen asking Sarah some questions. Then, I’m pretty sure that she left – went home – or I suppose she did. Modesty – you mean Mrs Clay… I don’t know, can’t remember when I last saw her.”

“Will you be all right for a little bit, if I go to check on Modesty – Mrs Clay?”

“Yes, mistress, I’m sure I will. Was everyone else all right?”

“Lisa-Louise was still standing over her uncle’s body, when I last saw her. The others changed – I’m not sure where they went afterwards. Barguin and Diqui should be here by now.”

“Perhaps they’re with Lisa-Louise, mistress.”

“Perhaps… Yes, I expect so. If you’d like more whisky help yourself – there’s plenty more in the bottle.”

“Thank you, mistress. I think I might have just a drop more.”

Rising from her chair a little unsteadily, Tipsi replenished the drink. Holding the spirits glass to her lips with both of her shaky hands, she drank a generous measure. At a nod from me, she returned to the bottle. With a smile in her direction, intended to be encouraging, I departed.

Still dressed in pink – as a flower fairy – but without the mask, I hurried through ill-lit corridors, the wall-mounted torches now guttering. My way took me down a staircase on which the lights had failed entirely. It was hard to see my footing in the inky darkness, and I was surprised not to tumble. Then I was knocking on Modesty’s door.

Barguin, back in harness, admitted me. Lisa-Louise and Modesty, both in drab clothing – as well as Diqui in slavewear – were sitting, looking morose and nursing glasses of whisky. In my masque costume, complete with butterfly wings, I felt distinctly out of place. Someone handed me a drink.

“Bob took Fluff back to their quarters,” said Lisa-Louise. “The guard asked Sarah and the girls a few questions – nothing much – then they went home. But where’s Tipsi?”

“In my living room. Drinking whisky, funnily enough.”

“The girls said you were asking whether anyone saw the killer.”

“Yes, but Fluff said there might not be one. It could be an accident.”

“I think you know better than that, Tuerqui. In fact, I think the reason for asking was that you saw the killer, and wondered whether anyone else had seen him. It has to be a him.”

“If I did, it’s dangerous knowledge.”

“As if we’re not already knee deep in dangerous information. We all know that Lord Higate had uncle killed. Only he didn’t do the deed himself – he was careful to be on the dance floor when the killing was done. The name of his creature can’t add much more danger.”

“Are you going to revenge yourself on the murderer, mistress? That could add a whole lot more danger.”

“Don’t worry I didn’t love my uncle that much, and I’m not big on family honour. I’d just like to know.”

“All right, mistress. I was worried for you, that’s all. Just after your uncle’s body fell, mistress, I saw Captain Grace staring down through the shattered skylight.”

“You’re sure, Tuerqui?”

“Certain of it, mistress. I don’t think I’d previously seen such evil written in a man’s face, mistress. In its own way, it was as horrible as your uncle’s broken body on the dance floor, maybe more horrible.”

“Thank you for telling me, Tuerqui. Don’t worry, I won’t go after a stupid revenge. Still, if it’s ever in my power… Never mind – how’s Tipsi?”

“In shock, I think, mistress. I’m not sure that the warrior’s life is for her.”

“None of us are warriors, Tuerqui, but we’ll see you back to your real mistress, and save Tuerquelle – or die trying. Maybe I understand duty better than my uncle thought. Or is it love?”

“Perhaps it’s both, mistress.”

“Perhaps it is. Anyway, my uncle may have deserved to die, but your daughter doesn’t. I’d be surprised if Tipsi’s determination is less than the rest of us, when it comes to the crunch.”

“All the same,” said Modesty, “it feels to me that the game is over. From here on, things are serious. Wilfred Addal was the first to die, but he won’t be the last. And we’ll be doing some of the killing.”

“Are you sure you want to be involved, Modesty?” I asked.

“You just try to stop me!”

She was right, I felt. In some way, Wilfred Addal’s death marked a watershed. From this point onwards, things would be increasingly serious. There would be more killing – and we would have to do some of it.

Sinking into an armchair, I felt the masque costume butterfly wings buckling behind me. The whisky burnt my throat on its way down – it was rougher than the bottle I’d left with Tipsi. From somewhere outside, probably beyond the palace walls, revellers cheered and hooted. Circling the room, Modesty refilled our glasses – it surprised me that mine was empty.

[1] The New Year was to be YD 732, the final year of the Surrey democracy. By summer, it would be the first regnal year of Berenice I.

[2] The future remains a blank book is a quotation from Sage Derrin – repudiating the fatalistic philosophies characteristic of the Intermediate Period.

[3] Put to the question – tortured.

For Chapter 40 click
http://bondlings.blogspot.com/2007/11/of-bondlings-and-blesh-chapter-40.html

Of Bondlings and Blesh Chapter 38

Chapter 38

The Barque of the Year was in its final stages of preparation. Garlands of holly – bright red berries against glossy dark green – almost obliterated the gunwale, and still more were being hammered into place. A fiddler, muffled in what appeared to be half a dozen cloaks, played The Old Year is A-Falling, the melody curiously distinct above the hammering. Snow fell in flakes soft as goose down, spiralling to the damp pavement – and showing no sign of settling.

It was Blinkday 19th, the final schoolroom morning before breaking for the Solstice and New Year. Having set a shorter Comday test than usual – followed by drill – Miss Miles had taken Mary, Phoebe and me down to the river. As the two little girls and I had been on our best behaviour, no one had been punished all morning. This excursion to see the Barque was the governess’ idea of a seasonal treat.

Our morning test had not only been shorter than usual, but easy, almost enjoyable. To my relief, had there been no arithmetic questions – better still, it had been entirely devoted to seasonal matters. The exam topics included the reason the Barque of the Year makes its journey from west to east – and how that relates to the re-birth of the sun. Some of the posers were a little tricky, but I was confident that all of my answers were correct.

After the test, drill had been conducted outside in the yard, in spite of snow flakes circling about our heads. It was evidently too cold for the idlers, none had been lounging in the open air. As far as I could determine, less than usual watched from windows – much of the glass was crazed with frost. We performed our exercises more briskly than ever, the temperature was too low to do otherwise.

Drill over, shivering in the unheated changing room, we hurried to wash in the icy water provided – so as to resume the comparative warmth of our pinafore dresses as quickly as possible. At this point, Miss Miles announced our treat, and provided us with coats of inadequate thickness. Since then, we had been out in streets crowded with peddlers and shoppers – all of whom seemed more warmly wrapped than us. The governess was expatiating upon seasonal customs, mostly information with which I was already familiar.

“If you look over to the other side of the river, children, you will see that the Surrey Barque is also approaching completion. Really, I think their effort this year is a little poor. Of course, girls, we cannot expect the gods to truly bless anything from so wicked a land. It will be no wonder when the power of the sun is renewed more vigorously for us than for them.”

As far as I could see, the Barque on the south bank looked very little different from that of the north. If anything, perhaps their sun mirror glowed a little more brightly than that of Lundin – but this may have been a matter of the angle at which it caught the light. The hammering ceased abruptly as the boat wrights went for another bag of nails. In the comparative quiet, singing from the Surrey crew drifted over the water – the carol Dress the Sun in Skirts of Satin.

Had I been dressed more warmly, whether or not in skirts of satin, it would have been easier to enjoy the festive atmosphere. As it was, frost-laden air reached through a coat little longer than my pinafore dress, thoroughly chilling my unprotected thighs. By contrast, Miss Miles wore a voluminous and thick cloak, a fur hat and black woollen gloves. In her right hand she carried the schoolroom cane, ready for use, although it remained idle.

“Well, children,” Miss Miles continued, “I think that it’s time to return to the palace. Try not to become too unruly in your excitement, but there’s another treat for you.”

The additional treat transpired to be the schoolroom lunch version of a Solstice dinner. There was roast fowl, but the bird had evidently seen a long egg-laying career, and had been fit only for boiling. The Solstice pies were soggy and rather greasy. Miss Miles looping a holly garland over the handle of her cane did little to heighten the sense of festivity.

“This afternoon,” the governess announced, as the pies were served, “is to be devoted to making Solstice decorations. I really believe it will be fun. Margaret, I know that you’re usually at liberty in the afternoon, but wouldn’t you like to join us?”

“I’d love to, of course, miss – but I’m afraid that I have my dancing class. Life can’t be all treats, miss. We need to discipline ourselves.”

“How right you are, child. Your devotion to duty is a lesson for us all. Really, you seem quite transformed from the wilful disobedient creature you once were, Margaret. I think that I may take a little of the credit – with able assistance from my cane and strap, of course.”

“Of course, miss. I’m sure your punishments have done me a world of good, miss.”

“And I trust that your dance instructor knows how to correct slackness or insolence.”

“She is an excellent instructor in every way, miss.”

“I am very pleased to hear it Margaret. An extra thrashing or two never did anyone any harm. Now, I think our pies are growing cold.”

Her tone suggested regret that she had permitted the morning to pass without beating us. There could be no doubt that the slightest lapse in our table manners, or least suggestion of insolence, would meet with a stern response. With a redoubled effort to be decorous, I pressed my elbows close to my sides and – in so doing – my left hand caught a glass of water, toppling it. Miss Miles gazed on the puddle at our feet with undisguised triumph.

“You, Margaret, are a clumsy girl, wholly lacking in decorum. I cannot allow you to break for the Solstice and New Year without a little correction. Over my knee, child! While I’m spanking you, I shall consider whether it will be right to proceed to the cane – or the strap.”

“Yes, miss. Thank you, miss.”

Emerging from lunch with a warm bottom, I was overjoyed at the prospect of no more schoolroom for almost two weeks. Sensing that Miss Miles’ mood had veered too far to the savage, I restrained myself from any cry of delight. Instead, I turned a somersault on entering the dance space. Tipsi and Diqui clapped, Mrs Clay cheered, Lisa-Louise laughed.

The following day was Solstice Eve, and father requested my presence at lunch. Although having no desire to see him, I went willingly enough. My fear was that, should I make an excuse, he might demand my presence the following day. Missing the celebration with Fluff, her beloved Bobbikins and my friends from the dance classes was not to be contemplated.

“I believe that you intend to wear armour to the New Year masque,” my father said, looking up from his plate of cold beef, pickle and potatoes.

“Yes, father, I thought it would allow me to wear breeches. They should show my legs to good advantage. I must make the best of what beauty the goddess has granted me. Aren’t there to be suitors present?”

“Yes, there will be suitors. I invited four of them but, unfortunately, the most eligible of the lot – The Count of Banbury – is otherwise engaged. Still, there will be three suitable young men, which is not too bad. There will be Lord Up Minester, Baron Leopold of Fleet and Captain Grace of the guard.”

“A Captain of the guard, father? For your daughter?”

“I appreciate your concern, but he’s from a good family, and heir to a satisfactory title. His people have useful connections – I rather favour him.”

“Even so, father, I am a princess.”

“Yes, you are a princess of the Blood Victoria – which reminds me of the other matter. In view of your status, it is unthinkable that you should attend the masque in armour or breeches. In any case, I have already had the armour returned to Eric Marsh. If there’s anything girly about it, it’ll make a nice Solstice gift for him – the infamous flap fiddler.”

“But father!”

“I’ll not mind your pardon for that, daughter. Every day Eric Marsh seems more the cream horn than the last.”

“Yes, father, I’m sure you’re right. When I saw him last week…”

My hope in starting this speech was precipitate trouble for the so-called Honourable Eric Marsh. His groping me under pretence of measuring still rankled. What charges I would lay were unclear, and it may be fortunate that father interrupted before any specific allegation. The full truth would have disabused my parent of the notion that his general in charge of ordnance enjoyed lying with his own sex.

“Girl, enough of that back foot waltzer! You are no doubt right in thinking it useful to show your legs to good advantage. Not too long a skirt would be entirely suitable. Made from some light stuff – chiffon, perhaps – I know or care little for such girlishness – Mrs Clay will know better than I do.”

“You have spoken to Mrs Clay, father?”

“Sent her a message, I’m a busy man, no time to wag tongues with female staff. Female family is more than bad enough. Even now, her stitch slaves should be sewing you a flower fairy costume. Something pretty to please the boys.”

“Yes, father. Thank you, father.”

“Only trying to do right for you. On that matter – daughter – what plans have you for tomorrow? If need be, I suppose I could make a place for you at my table.”

“There’s no need for that, father. You won’t want your Solstice ruined by women’s talk. I had in mind dinner with the girls from my dance classes.”

“I see – an occasion for silly girly giggling, and female prattle, I suppose. My Solstice will be much more suitable. The dinner guests will include Cornelius Lock, who is sure to have financial matters to discuss. Also present will be Lord Higate, ably assisted by the promising Captain Grace. Oh – and Wilfred Addal is always an engrossing companion…”

It occurred to me that gross was more accurate than engrossing – but didn’t say so. As my father continued his catalogue of guests, their quality didn’t improve. It was hard to imagine a group of people with whom I would less like to spend the Solstice – that is apart from Miss Miles, and one or two others. My feeling was that it served my father right to spend the supposedly festive season with a guest list headed by the Tax Gatherer General.

By contrast, the celebration with Fluff, Bob Bosset and everyone from the dance classes, while involving some hard work, proved hugely enjoyable. It started shortly after breakfast, as far as I was concerned, when Lisa-Louise placed me in harness, along with Tipsi, Diqui and Barguin. She gave each of us a light weight bundle to carry, and took one herself. Wrapping ourselves in warm cloaks, we hurried to the Sergeant General’s quarters.

“Merry Solstice, Fluff!” Lisa-Louise called as the door opened. “I’ve brought your gifts. Cloaks off, girls!”

“Slaves like me?” Fluff asked, as we obeyed the command.

“Not at all, Fluff. Slaves to do your bidding – all day. Open this gift, now.”

Lisa-Louise presented the package she had been carrying. Fluff accepted it with an enquiring look – we nodded encouragement. With a shrug, our hostess undid the red ribbon bow that secured the wrapping. Revealed was a beautiful gown of golden satin.

“For me?” asked Fluff with a little shriek.

“For you – to keep – for ever. Today, you are mistress of the house, and this is your gown. The slaves will do all of the hard work. The packages they’re carrying are gowns for them to wear at dinner, and afterwards – very lovely but not, of course, as beautiful as yours.”

“Ooh thank you, Lisa-Louise. Thank you all. These are the best Solstice gifts I’ve ever had – truly! I just hope that the dinner will be enough of a gift from me.”

In a confused babble of sound, we all assured her that the meal would be a wonderful gift. Recalling the dinner party sixteen days before, I was sure that it would be. Another delicious recollection was the smell of baking Solstice pies as I’d broached the question of sex lessons over the kitchen table. Tipsi, Diqui, Barguin and I were about to provide the muscle, but Fluff would remain the presiding genius of the kitchen.

Proving herself a kind – but sufficiently assertive – mistress, Fluff set us to work. My thought was that the assurance with which she issued commands was a by-product of the tuition I’d given her on sexual technique, and especially role play – bubbling into the kitchen from the bedroom. Having issued her orders, she left us for perhaps twenty minutes or half an hour. When she re-appeared, she had exchanged her slave harness for a floral print dress.

“Mrs Clay gave it to me a couple of weeks ago,” she explained. “It’s nice, but food splashes should wash out easily enough. I can’t wear the satin one in the kitchen for fear of ruining it – and I’ll need to keep an eye on my slaves… Tuerqui – bank up the oven fires – they’ll need to be a deal hotter than that.”

“Yes, mistress. At once, mistress.”

It felt good to be working as part of a team of slaves, with a kind mistress directing us through a noble project. This was my first real experience of such a thing since being snatched from the University of Pain. Lisa-Louise had commanded me sufficiently to save my sanity – unfortunately, she had no choice but to leave me half princess, half slave. It had been inevitably so with the daily demands placed upon me, but the Solstice was a day out from the ordinary world.

We worked very well together, and for Fluff. As far as Tipsi was concerned, there was no surprise in this – I’d never known her to be less than a dutiful slave. Barguin was another matter – usually she seemed both wilful and lazy – but for once she was clearly taking delight in running with harness mates. Diqui was the biggest surprise – an unquenchable personage burnt within her, but that day she placed it aside, probably for the sake of Fluff whom she loved as much as any of us.

“Hello, slaves. Merry Solstice!” said Bob Bosset, looking into the kitchen in the mid morning.

“Hello Lord General,” we chorused. “Merry Solstice!”

“Lord General, eh? Not master. Fair enough, I suppose Fluff is your mistress. Doesn’t she look a treat in a frock?”

“Yes, she does,” said Diqui. “I could just…”

“I’m sure you could, but never mind about that. I looked in for a word with Tuerqui.”

“Yes, Lord General?”

“The harness suits you, Tuerqui. You’re a real slave. The princess thing isn’t really you. And the whore and the schoolchild are only roles.”

“Thank you, Lord General. Was that what you came to say?”

“No, it isn’t, really. But seeing you there, working in harness, with the others… Well – it’s very lovely. And, for the first time, I can truly imagine you as the property of your mistress in Surrey – she’s a lucky lady.”

“That’s a lovely thing to say, Lord General.”

“Just the truth, Tuerqui. But I wanted to tell you that I’ve got your armour. Your daddy told Eric Marsh to keep it – and he passed it on to me. Said it wouldn’t fit a man, but might do for one of the irregulars I’m training.”

“Thank you, Lord General. That’s brilliant!”

“Well – it’ll help you through any fighting you need to do as you return to your mistress. Today, for the first time to be honest, I’m really pleased to be helping you to go back where you belong. Until I saw you in the kitchen, working so well with the other slaves, I didn’t know. May the goddess guide you, that’s all.”

“That’s very touching, Bobbikins,” said Fluff, who had just re-entered the kitchen. “But you’re distracting my slaves, and we’ve a dinner to make. Run along now, there’s a good boy.”

“Merry Solstice, Fluff,” he said, kissing her.

“You know,” Fluff said after Bob left the kitchen, “Bobbikins is right. You do work very well together. It’s like our chorus line dancing, very much like it. I could envy you being slaves together – all the same, it is nice to be the mistress for once.”

“Thank you, mistress,” said Diqui. “It’s unexpectedly nice to be your slave. And it is just like being together on the chorus line – whether it’s in the dance classes or the arms training.”

“We’re a team,” said Tipsi. “Team Tuerqui – and our mission will be to return the slave to her beloved mistress. But – for today – we’re team Fluff, and our mission is roast goose.”

Under Fluff’s direction, Tipsi and I lifted one of the geese from the oven to glaze it yet again with a mixture of honey and herbs – and to drain off the grease. Diqui and Barguin attended to the other bird. Seeing that all was well, Fluff left the kitchen, as we continued with our duties. Perhaps ten minutes later, she returned – grinning.

“The geese can cook themselves for a bit, girls,” she said. “Come and see Mrs Clay.”

Emerging from the kitchen, the sight of the normally respectable housekeeper startled me. While I’d seen her in sequins, skimpy shorts and tights during the dance classes, that did little to prepare me of her Solstice outfit. She wore a snugly fitting, low cut blouse and a figure-hugging skirt provocatively short, even without its side slit. Her face was painted for harlotry, very high heels and fishnet stockings completed the outfit.

“It’s her Solstice gift,” Fluff explained. “She’s our whore for the day. We can all have her – starting with a threesome with me and Bobbikins. In a bit, each of you can leave the kitchen for twenty minutes, or so, to have a bit of fun with her in the bedroom.”

A little later, I heard Lisa-Louise welcoming Sarah James and the three musicians. Presumably, Fluff and Bob were still busy with Mrs Clay in the bedroom. There was the thud of the drum placed on a piece of furniture, and the groan of the squeezebox, as Lisa-Louise offered drinks to the new arrivals. Then the first of the carols drifted into the kitchen – Solstice Night, with Sarah’s sweet voice rising above the instruments.

By the time I joined Mrs Clay in the bedroom, she was clad in nothing but delicious lingerie. Her make up was looking good – no doubt she painted herself afresh for each of us. In spite of having already lain with most of the company, musicians included, she welcomed me with genuine enthusiasm. The love we made was by turns tender and savage – but always beautiful.

At last, dinner was ready. Still in harness, Tipsi, Diqui, Barguin and I brought the main course into the dining room. Bob Bosset had pushed two tables together to seat all twelve of us – the pair of them almost filling the chamber. Reverently, we placed the geese before the Sergeant General, ready for him to carve. Having done so, the four of us accepted the harness keys from our beloved mistress Fluff, and slipped away to change into satin dresses, before rejoining the company.

Our frocks were not as complex as Fluff’s, who now looked every bit the mistress of the house in her golden satin gown, its gleaming surface a seasonal reminder of the newly re-born sun’s divinity and radiance. Although simple, each dress was quite lovely, falling to the floor from thin shoulder straps. Mine was the dark glossy green of holly leaves, Tipsi’s the bright red of the berries. Diqui’s dress was silver and Barguin’s sky blue.

Mrs Clay had replaced her harlot’s outfit with a dress similar to ours, but violet. The least bright colour was worn by Amelia, in grey – but even hers seemed to shimmer in the lamplight. Lisa-Louise wore chestnut, Harriet yellow, Jane orange and Sarah James the green of summer leaves. Bob Bosset was resplendent in full parade uniform – powder blue with gold braid.

The main course comprised two huge geese served with roasted root vegetables and savoy cabbage. By way of drink, there was a robust elderberry wine – anything less would have been overpowered by the goose. Sam, Bob Bosset’s fat cat, poked out his head from under the tablecloth and looked at me enquiringly. Surreptitiously, I slipped him a piece of goose, moments later I saw Tipsi do the same thing – catching one another’s eye, we laughed.

For dessert, there were what I believe to be the best Solstice pies ever baked – accompanied by a dark sweet wine made from I don’t know what kind of fruit. With full bellies, we sat at the table sipping on strong spirits, cracking jokes and nuts. All of us were at least a little drunk – or, as Fluff put it, Solstice pie eyed. Even the cat didn’t seem entirely sober.

“Ladies and slaves, ladies who will be slaves and slaves who will be ladies,” said Bob Bosset, rising to his feet and pushing back his chair. “You have all given us wonderful Solstice gifts. Fluff, yours was the best Solstice dinner any of us have ever eaten. Lisa-Louise, yours was the loan of your slaves who made the dinner possible without straining the mistress of the house.”

“And my gown,” said Fluff.

“And your gown. In fact, there are two gowns, or perhaps three. The second one is a joint gift from Lisa-Louise and Mrs Clay, but we will come to that in a bit. Mrs Clay has also given us the delicious gift of her whoredom – for which we are all grateful.”

“It was a pleasure,” said Mrs Clay, “really.”

“A pleasure for us all – as was the music given by Harriet, Jane and Amelia – with Sarah singing. Thank you ladies, without you Solstice would not have been complete. Tuerqui, Tipsi, Diqui and Barguin have given us the precious gift of their slavery. They have worked hard to make this day the success it has been.”

“Yes, thank you, girls,” said Fluff. “Without all your hard work, I would have been too tired to enjoy the dinner.”

“That,” Bob continued, “leaves only me with no Solstice gift for the party.”

“But you’ve provided your home for our pleasure,” said Sarah. “Isn’t that enough?”

“And paid for the geese, too,” Amelia added.

“Those might be enough for an ordinary Solstice, but not for the best Solstice in the history of the world. For that, I need very special gifts. I have here two legal documents. The first,” he unrolled a sheet of thick paper, “is a bill of personage.”

“Personage?” asked Fluff. “Who’s granted personage? One of my slaves?”

“No, my beloved Fluff – it’s for you. I hereby,” he said, taking a pen, “confer upon the former slave Fluff all of the rights and privileges of a person. She is freed in perpetuity from the obligations of slavery. Fluff – what personage name would you like?”

“Are you sure, Bobbikins? I’m happy to be your slave. But this is lovely, as long as I can still have you.”

“You can still have me, Fluff. I’m yours, if you want me. We’ll come to that in a moment. Now – what name would you like on the bill of personage?”

“My family called me Tina, before we were all enslaved for debt. But I stopped being Tina years ago. All of you love me as Fluff – and I know that, in your different ways, you do love me. Can I still be Fluff as a person?”

“If that’s what you want, my love. Are you sure?”

“Am I sure?” She looked round the table, making eye contact with each of us in turn. “Yes, I am, Bobbikins. I can see that you all love Fluff, so Fluff I will be, Lady Fluff if necessary.”

“Then it is done. I sign my name thus, and you are no longer Fluff the slave, but Fluff the person.” He unrolled a second sheet of thick legal paper. “This one is a contract of marriage. Fluff, my love, will you marry me and have my babies?”

“Bobby!” Fluff shrieked, throwing her arms about him.

“Well, Fluff,” he continued, when her embrace relaxed slightly. “Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

“Of course I will, Bobby! It’s all so wonderful… I just…” tears were streaming down her cheeks.

“I know it’s Valday, and weddings are usually on Briday,” said Bob, fighting back his own tears. “But do you think we might marry straight away, before this wonderful company? It’s not only Solstice, but Valday is sacred to Tuerqui’s goddess. I wonder whether, as the most religious one of us, Tuerqui would act as priestess.”

“I’d be delighted,” I said, “if you’re sure.”

“Oh yes, Tuerqui,” said Fluff, “please do. You have already been the good fairy for our relationship – without you none of this would have happened, I’m sure. And this beautiful satin gown will make a lovely wedding dress.”

“Lisa-Louise and Mrs Clay can do better than that,” Bob said. “Bring out your gift.”

The pair of them left the room to return, moments later, with a large box tied with white satin ribbon. Untying the bow, and lifting the lid, Fluff gasped. Inside was a mass of white chiffon, satin and lace. Lifting it out, we could all see that it was the most magnificent wedding gown that had ever been sewn.

“For me?” said Fluff.

“For you, Fluff,” Lisa-Louise confirmed. “With love.”

“For you, Lady Bosset,” Mrs Clay confirmed. “And we have one for you, too, Tuerqui – as priestess.”

She produced a box I hadn’t previously noticed, smaller than that for Fluff’s wedding dress, and tied with scarlet ribbon. Untying the bow, and lifting the lid, I found a scarlet dress within. Joining Fluff in the bedroom, we both changed, attended by Lisa-Louise and Mrs Clay. My dress was floor length, but a snug fit, low cut and slit to the upper thigh on the right hand side.

“The dress is perfect for Our Lady of the Lamp,” I said, “but she’s the patroness of whores, not respectable marriage.”

“I think she’s the patroness of this particular marriage,” said Mrs Clay. “As I understand it, the wedding arises through the agency of your whoredom. That’s one reason I came as the Solstice whore. I thought it a suitable offering to Our Lady of the Lamp – and also it was fun, as it turned out.”

“That’s right,” said Lisa-Louise. “Bob’s been using contraception because he wanted his children to be born to a wife not a slave – old fashioned, but charming. You touched him with your whoredom, Tuerqui, then taught Fluff your mucky little tricks. That was when he knew that Fluff was the wife for him.”

“So the wedding is, in some way, my doing – and Our Lady of the Lamp’s?”

“Exactly, Tuerqui, you’ve been the good sex fairy – and now you must be the priestess. They say that some marriages are made in heaven. The ground work for this one was made in a brothel.”

“It’s strange how things work out.”

“And all kept a secret – even from the bride,” said Fluff.

“Yes,” said Lisa-Louise. “Only Bob, Mrs Clay and me knew about it. And Toby Slack, I suppose – he drew up the deed of personage and marriage contract. The idea came up while I was talking with Bob after arms training – I was his sympathetic ear.”

“What if I’d said no?” Fluff asked.

“You turn down your Bobbikins? Not have his babies? Yeah – right!”

Fluff made the most beautiful bride in the entire history of the world. Her dress was an amazing confection of satin, ribbon, lace and chiffon. A triumph of Mrs Clay’s loving design, it was sufficiently ornate to turn any head, yet perfect in its simplicity. Bob Bosset gaped in open mouthed wonder as she entered the living room to the strains of the bridal march.

“In the name of Our Lady of the Lamp,” I began, “on behalf of every goddess and every god of this world, we are gathered here to witness the marriage Lady Fluff, new in personage, and Sergeant General Bob Bosset of the Lundin guard. This is a legal union – and a sacred one. Does anyone present – person or slave – know of any reason why this woman and this man should not be joined?”

There was silence. In the quiet, I felt the power of the goddess coursing through me. No longer was I Tuerqui, the slave – nor Princess Margaret of the Blood Victoria. Instead, in that moment, I was the avatar of the goddess, her living embodiment.

“Very well, do you – Lady Fluff, newly restored to personage – take Bob Bosset to be your husband, wedded in the eyes of the law and of every deity? Do you consent to remain with him as long as you both survive? To have his babies and raise them to the best of your ability?”

“I do. Especially the bit the about the babies, Tuerqui.”

“And do you – Sergeant General Bob Bosset of the Lundin guard – take Lady Fluff to be your wife, wedded in the eyes of the law and of every deity? Do you consent to remain with her as long as you both survive? For her to have your babies and for you both to raise them to the best of your abilities?”

“I do. I’ve never wanted anything more.”

“Then, in the name of Our Lady of the Lamp, and by the power of the goddess who is within me, I pronounce you man and wife in the sight of every goddess and every god in all the world. Sergeant General and Lady Fluff Bosset, you will now both sign the contract to add the force of the law to that of divinity. May you have a long and happy marriage. May the goddess bless you with beautiful, happy and healthy children.”

The musicians struck up a tune, and Sarah sang How Beautiful the Bride. The couple stepped to a small table where a pen rested on an ink pot and the contract was unrolled. Tipsi, Diqui and Barguin, performed an improvised and exuberant dance. Lisa-Louise and Mrs Clay stood to one side wearing the look of persons who know that they’ve done a fine piece of work.

The musicians moved on to a dance tune, with Sarah continuing to sing. The lyrics began I like to wriggle with a wriggly girl, Take her down and give her a whirl… Mrs Clay placed an arm about my waist and, in another moment, we were dancing – she taking the part of the man. Her fingers moved to the beat – a caressing motion.

“You and your stitch slaves did a brilliant job with the frocks. Fluff looked unbelievable.”

“Thank you, kind miss. You’re filling that dress more than adequately, yourself.”

“Nice of you to say so. You’re looking pretty good, too. Have you had a good time?”

“I’ll say! I’m the only one who got to shag everyone here.”

“Slut! It’s funny, we’ve had sex, but I don’t know your first name.”

“Modesty.”

“Not sure that it suits you too well. Are we going to make love again?”

“After a couple more dances. Be patient, you bad, bad girl.”

Propelled by her firm but gentle grip upon my waist, my bare feet slipped easily across the waxed wooden floor. A fragrance of Solstice pies – fruit and strong spirits – lingered in the air. The soft smooth dress fabric, where it was slit, slid across my thigh, arousing as a lover’s touch. The musicians started a slower song – Modesty held me closer, her lips brushing mine, but – as yet – not quite kissing.

For Chapter 39 click
http://bondlings.blogspot.com/2007/11/of-bondlings-and-blesh-chapter-39.html

Of Bondlings and Blesh Chapter 37

Chapter 37

The table dusted with flour, Fluff was rolling pastry. Having kicked off my shoes, the floor – grey flagstones – felt cold through the glossy tights I still wore. There sounded from the living room a fast tempo tune on flute and squeezebox – Jane and Harriet about to receive well-merited tasty treats. The kitchen smelt of spices and strong spirits.

“That smells good,” I said.

“It’s for the holiday, Tuerqui – the Solstice and New Year. I’m stewing fruit with spices and spirits. I’m glad you like it. I haven’t asked Bobbikins yet, but I’m hoping we’ll have all the girls from the dance classes for Solstice dinner.”

“Crumbs! The solstice is less than a fortnight away. Well – if I’m invited – I’ll join you for sure. Not just for the food – I don’t know about you, but it seems to me that we’ve become really good friends over the last couple of weeks.”

“Of course we’re friends, Tuerqui!”

“Yes, we are, Fluff. I didn’t expect that we would be – what with me using sex to pay Bob for arms training. If you hated me, I couldn’t blame you.”

“Tuerqui, you’re lovely – but sometimes I wish you weren’t doing that.”

“Just sometimes?”

“Well – to be honest – pretty well all the time. After he’s been with you, Bobby isn’t much interested in playing snookums with me. But, without you, there’d be no dancing.”

“But you’d rather have the dancing and the snookums?”

“Is that asking too much, Tuerqui?”

“No – I really don’t think it is. I’ve been mulling it over. Do you know how I came by my bedroom skills?”

“You were in a brothel, weren’t you? It must have been horrible, but I expect you learned how to please men.”

“That’s about the size of it, Fluff. If the men weren’t happy with what I did, Madame Scurf, who ran the brothel, had a cane and a whip. I made bloody sure that I picked up all sorts of little tricks – and fast. It’s been going through my mind that I could teach you how to please Bob.”

“So that he wouldn’t want you any more, Tuerqui?”

“Yes – so he’d get everything he wants from you, Fluff.”

“Would you need to use the cane or the whip, Tuerqui – like that Madame Skirt?”

“No, Fluff, I don’t want to do that to you. There’s those who teach by hitting you – like Madame Scurf, or Miss Miles. Then there are those who teach with gentleness and patience – like your Bob, or Sarah James. It would have to be done the gentle way – hurting you, Fluff, any more than I already have, would really break my heart.”

“You know, Tuerqui, I’m so glad you can see Bobbikins’ gentleness. He’s an army general, and your daddy pays him to be fierce. I’m sure he does that very well, and some people can’t see past it to his gentle heart.”

“I can see past it to his sore bottom, too.” Starting to giggle, I stifled my laughter. “Sorry, Fluff, maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”

“What do you mean, Tuerqui? Tell me – please.”

“It’s just that – like most men, in my experience – he enjoys being spanked.”

“Is that what you do to him, Tuerqui?”

“One of the things. There are plenty of others.”

“Then it’s one of the things I’d have to learn. But you said that you didn’t want to spank me.”

“Yeah, it probably is something I’d have to teach you. But unless you’ve got eyes in your bottom, I couldn’t do it by spanking you.”

She laughed. “No Tuerqui, I’ve only got the eyes you can see.”

“I’d probably use a cushion to show you the best way to do it. Then you’d have to practice on me.”

“Would I have to do that, Tuerqui? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Don’t worry about me, Fluff. After Miss Miles’ tender loving care, it would be a relief to have a bit of girly erotic spanking from you. And, if I can’t feel what you’re doing, I won’t know how well you’re doing it.”

“I’m not sure about spanking you, Tuerqui.”

“Well – you’ll be doing it to Bob afterwards, and you love him a lot more than you love me.”

“That’s true, Tuerqui.”

“If you’d like to go ahead with learning what I can teach, I’ll have a word with Bob about it.”

“Thank you, Tuerqui. I’d love you to teach me. But shouldn’t I speak to Bobbikins?”

“Not before I’ve spoken to him. I’m the whore round here, not you. We want you and him to have more fun together, but we don’t want him getting the wrong idea about you.”

It seemed to me better for their relationship if each believed her or himself the first to whom I’d spoken. If Fluff knew that I’d already discussed the matter with Bob, it was too likely to seem a dirty, second hand thing. She might also believe that I valued him more than I did her. On the other hand, it was well to avoid denting the Sergeant General’s male pride.

No further opportunity presented itself that evening to speak privately with Bob Bosset, so I waited until after paying for our training the following day. Although laced into a tight leather sheath that somewhat constricted my breathing, the time between sex and parting seemed a good moment to talk. While the lacing of the bodice remained in place, that of the skirt was open to permit what had just passed between us. Reaching down, I stroked his hair.

“I spoke to Fluff yesterday.”

“About you teaching her whore… that is, the things you know?

“Yes, about whore – the things I know. She agreed that it was a good idea. Fluff really wants to please you.”

“You mean you told her that I wanted you to give her sex lessons?”

“Of course not. She doesn’t even know I’d already spoken to you about it. And she shouldn’t find out. Fluff wants to enjoy you – and for you to take pleasure in her.”

“Shit! I’m a tom cat! I’ve been neglecting her. It’s just that, after a session with you, I feel so drained.”

“Yeah, maybe what we’ve just done should be the last time I pay you this way. How would it be if, tomorrow, I give Fluff her first sex lesson instead? Then she could give you the benefit of what I’ve taught her. Helping your love along, and spreading happiness, as well as legs.”

“When you put it like that, I can’t say no.”

“Neither should you. This is going to make Fluff’s life better – and yours at the same time. You’ll see.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I am, believe me. I’ll be a fairy sprinkling magic dust upon your love. Tell you another thing – Fluff’s about my size.”

“How do you know what size she is? You haven’t been jerking her off, have you? If you have…”

“Relax! We just had a little chat – woman to woman – while she was busy making your Solstice pies. I didn’t mean the size of our girl parts, I meant our dress size.”

“Oh. Sorry. And…”

“If I pass the costumes on to Fluff, they should fit her as well as me. I won’t be able to let her have my schoolroom things – or the drill outfit – I need them for Miss Miles. But she could inherit everything else.”

“Fluff has what it takes to fill the costumes, all right. But do you think that she has what it takes to play the roles?”

“Why not? It doesn’t take a genius. I’ll need to explain, so she understands, of course. Just give me an hour or two alone with her tomorrow evening – I’m sure she’ll start to pick it up.”

“Thank you, Tuerqui.”

“No need to thank me. I’ll be paying you the best way I can. In any case, I like Fluff and I like you. If I end up feeling that I’ve done a good job for you both – that would be reward enough.”

Early on Sorday evening, I started to train Fluff in sexual matters. Teaching her kissing techniques proved especially arousing, and it was difficult to restrain myself from making love to her. Hastily, I transferred my attentions to a cushion – demonstrating some fingering methods. Fluff proved herself a better student than I’d expected – it occurred to me that she might be a great deal less stupid than she liked people to suppose.

Next day saw the regular Comday morning test, followed by drill. The arithmetic questions were easier than usual, no long division, leaving me confident that I had a fair number of correct answers. It being sunny, bright but not at all warm, Miss Miles conducted drill in the yard. The low temperature encouraged us all to move briskly and, were the idlers hoping to witness punishments, they were disappointed.

The schoolroom lunch comprised patties and cold vegetables. While Fluff would have been ashamed to serve the food, it was not at all bad by the standards of meals with the governess. Miss Miles’ cane, handle hooked over a peg on the wall behind her chair, was sufficient to ensure that we remained less than cheerful. In spite of that, the atmosphere at table was notably less miserable than usual.

“His majesty, Margaret’s father, has asked me to convey something to you,” Miss Miles said, after chewing and swallowing her first mouthful. “There is to be a masked ball on New Year’s Eve. You are all to arrange suitable costumes for yourselves. Unfortunately, I am unlikely to be present as I am visiting an elderly aunt over the Solstice and New Year period.”

“Does that mean there will be no schoolroom, miss, while you’re away?” Phoebe asked.

“Phoebe! You dreadful child! In future, you will swallow your food before you speak. Your failure in that regard most certainly merits the cane.”

The little girl pushed aside the lunch things to bend over the table. Slowly, and with deliberation, the governess took her cane from its peg. The chastisement was applied very smartly, but my thoughts were elsewhere. It seemed that Miss Miles’ lessons must be suspended while she was away – and there was to be a masked ball – I decided that it would be politic first to ask about the latter.

“Please, miss,” I said when Phoebe’s punishment was done, making very sure that my mouth was empty. “The masked ball, miss. Will there be music and dancing?”

“Indeed there will, Margaret. I believe that a party from the Palace Guard are to provide the music, and there will most certainly be dancing. Your father has invited three or four potential suitors for you. It may very well be that you’ll dance with your future husband – how romantic!”

“Yes, miss. And will everyone be in costumes and masks, miss?”

“Yes indeed, Margaret. Your father was especially pleased with the idea of masks. Yours will cover that dreadful tattoo on your forehead, and – it is to be hoped – make you seem a trifle more eligible.”

“It sounds lovely, miss. A pity you won’t be there.”

“Indeed a pity, Margaret. Unfortunately, my beloved aunt is infirm – and this Solstice could be my last opportunity to spend time with her. I may have a trifle of expectation from her will, but – of course – I am motivated by the love I bear her. We should never be overly motivated by money.”

“Of course not, miss. Will your absence mean that we have no classes, miss?”

“Regrettably, yes, Margaret. Of course, there would have been no classes on the Solstice itself – which falls on a Valday this year – nor over the New Year which occupies a Selday and a Sorday. Your father recognises the delicacy of my feelings for my aunt, and has been gracious enough to allow a break of almost two weeks. The final classes before the Solstice will be on Blinkday 19th, a Comday – and the next lessons will be on Chillflurry 2nd, another Comday.”

“Almost two weeks!” Mary gasped.

“Remove that smile from your face, child – you too, Phoebe! The pair of you should both assume grave expressions, like Margaret’s. You must treasure your moments in the schoolroom. Your only cheerful reflection should be that both the day you break up, and the day you return, will be occasions for the weekly test – followed by a nice brisk session of drill.”

“Yes, miss,” the little girls said in unison. “Of course, miss.”

Knowing that I would soon be at liberty for the remainder of the day, I was able to stifle any sign of my delight at the prospect of an extended break from the schoolroom. Unexpectedly, Miss Miles seemed to have been fooled by my forced frown. The governess reached backwards and fingered her cane, presumably calculating whether Mary’s and Phoebe’s undisguised pleasure merited an application of the stick. My nieces gazed aghast, especially the recently thrashed Phoebe, but neither of them received any retribution on that occasion.

Released from the schoolroom lunch, I waited until I’d turned a corner of the passageway before jumping for joy and emitting a whoop of delight. A moment later, it occurred to me that, while out of sight of the schoolroom door, I was not beyond earshot. Perhaps my cry of pleasure had been ill-advised, but possibly Miss Miles might not be able to identify it as my voice. With a degree of reassurance, I reflected that surely all the noises I’d made in her presence had been sober, if not mournful, or expressive of pain.

“There’s going to be a masked ball on New Year’s Eve,” I announced at the dance class door.

“With music and dancing?” Fluff asked.

“Well – guardsmen are supposed to be playing the music, but they might not be so bad. Not as good as Amelia, Jane and Harriet, of course.”

“Do you think I’ll be able to go?”

“I think my father is bound to invite his generals – and I’m sure that Bob will want you on his arm.”

“What about the rest of us?” asked Tipsi.

“As long as we all have masks and costumes, I can’t see any problem. Who’s going to sort the ladies from the slaves?”

“I think I can guarantee a mask and a costume for each of us,” said Mrs Clay, “leastways, if I’m included.”

“Of course you’re included,” I said, “why ever not?”

“It’s just that I’ve noticed that you all go off together after the dance classes, while I return to the stitch room. Sometimes I feel left out.”

“Well,” I said, “Lisa-Louise, Tipsi, Barguin and Diqui are all living in my rooms. Fluff goes back to Bob Bosset’s place, of course.”

“Ooh!” Fluff squealed. “That reminds me! I’ve spoken to Bobbikins – and you’re all invited to Solstice dinner at our place. You included, Mrs Clay. It wouldn’t be any fun without you.”

“Me and the musicians, too?” asked Sarah James.

“Yes! All of us! It’s going to be such fun! Do say you’ll all come!”

“Will we have dancing?” Tipsi asked.

“There’s not much room for high kicks in our quarters, but we’ll manage something.”

“Hey! I know where there’ll be plenty of room for high kicks,” Tipsi said. “The masked ball! Why don’t we do our chorus line routine?”

“I don’t think I’d be able to join in,” I said regretfully. “If my father saw me doing high kicks in sequins and tights, he’d have a fit.”

“Serve the old miser right,” said Lisa-Louise. “But would he know it was you – if we were all masked?”

“Maybe not. That’s a thought. Although, when you fix it up, no one had better mention that I’m in the chorus line.”

“Perhaps you’d better do the fixing up, Tuerqui. You may be a slave as far as we’re concerned – but you’re the one with the most status in the palace. I’m not sure who’ll be in charge of the programme, speak to Mr Groat, maybe. Tell him that some of the girls from the dance classes would like to hoof it up as a chorus line.”

“We’ll be busy at the Lundin Follies until about eleven,” said Sarah James. “But – if it’s after that – me, Harriet, Jane and Amelia could certainly help. You’d get a better tune out of us than from the stuffy old guardsmen – that’s for sure.”

Having spoken, our instructor tapped her staff and, still giggling with pleasure, we formed the chorus line. Our steps were more high spirited than usual, and perhaps a little less perfect, but no one seemed to mind very much. As the music reached its conclusion for the lesson, Tipsi executed a perfect cartwheel. As the others filed from the room, I detained Fluff for a private word.

“How did it go last night?” I asked.

“Last night, Tuerqui?”

“Yes, last night. With Bob – after your sex lesson.”

“Oh!” She giggled. “It was great! I never knew it could be like that.”

“That’s brilliant! Just you wait till I teach you a little bit more, my girl. You’ll see.”

“I asked Bobbikins if we could have you all over for Solstice dinner – asked while he was blissed out after snookums.”

“A good time to ask. You’re a sharper girl than a lot of folk think.”

That day, Bob Bosset introduced us to the morning star. The spiked ball on the end of the chain weighed a great deal more than I expected, and proved difficult to control. Had it not been for the coordinated dance moves, I felt sure that I’d have injured myself with it. As it was, none of us hurt ourselves, but neither did we make much progress towards becoming mistress of the weapon.

As the training session drew to its close, Bob Bosset invited us all for Solstice dinner. We managed to feign surprise pretty well. The pleasure we expressed was genuine. Before leaving, I drew the Sergeant General aside for a private word, as I’d done with Fluff.

“How did it go with Fluff last night?” I asked.

“Great! I never knew that she could do such things. Thank you, Tuerqui.”

“A pleasure. Time, now, to teach her a little more. You lucky man!”

After my session with Fluff, I went to see Mr Groat. My way took me past a window that overlooked the neglected garden in which Lisa-Louise had conducted secret conferences. The remains of the gazebo roof stood out distinctly in the moonlight. Someone seemed to be moving in the shadows, but it was impossible to be sure.

“Ah, Princess Margaret,” said Mr Groat, opening the door himself. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m not sure whether you’re the right person to approach, but Lisa-Louise and some of the girls from the dance class would like to stage a chorus line routine at the masked ball.”

“A dancing entertainment, Princess Margaret?”

“Exactly.”

“I can see no problem with that.” If he guessed that I wished to take part, he showed no sign of it. “Leave it with me, by all means. I’ll have a word with Miss Lisa-Louise about the necessary music.”

The following day, Mary and Phoebe were more than usually well behaved. By following their example, I ensured that none of us were punished. Miss Miles supplied me with maps for my geographical studies. Poring over them, looking for routes into Surrey, provided me with a pleasant enough morning.

“Margaret,” Miss Miles said, “you seem concerned with the Surrey marches.”

“Yes, miss. Some time, our army is sure to put an end to the wickedness of Surrey, isn’t it, miss? I was trying to trace what difficulties and obstacles they might face, miss.”

“A most proper, concern on your part, child. I suppose that this interest may be prompted by your being kept as a captive in Surrey. You will have had the misfortune of seeing the wickedness at first hand.”

“Yes, miss, I saw a lot of the wickedness while I was in Surrey. It touched me deeply, miss.” [1]

During the dance class, we were less high spirited than the previous day, but more focused. Sarah James outlined the sort of performance she thought we might realistically deliver at the masked ball. After some discussion, what were now rehearsals began. It was immediately clear that we had a significant amount of work to do.

Subsequently at arms training, rather to my relief, we returned to sword work. Recently, we had practiced as a single chorus line. That day, for the first time, still with music, we divided into pairs to fence with wooden weapons – Lisa-Louise and Bob Bosset, Diqui and Barguin, Tipsi and me. The mock swords didn’t cut, but I emerged with several bruises.

“That hurt,” I said afterwards. “We could have done with some armour.”

“Well,” Bob Bosset replied, “you’ll want armour before you have to fight for real. Providing it for the others can be managed by telling Eric Marsh that they’re to be irregular troops – but that won’t wash with you. Fluff said that there was to be a masked ball on New Year’s Eve, maybe we could use that as a pretext for armouring his highness’ daughter.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow. How would that work?”

“I tell him that your friends are planning to wear their new armour to the ball, and you want the same, as a fancy dress.”

“But I don’t want costume armour, the sort of thing you might wear to a ball – I’ll need the real thing.”

“That’s true enough. You’ll have to tell him that, when you go to be measured for it. Tell him that a princess’ armour shouldn’t be any less authentic than what the irregular troops are wearing.”

“Measured for it? Couldn’t I have the blue and yellow armour from the main staircase – the one with little faces on the shoulders?”

“Of course not! Armour has to fit. Would you wear a bra made for a different size girl?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Armour size is much more important. An ill-fitting bra will leave you with nothing worse than chafed tits. Do battle in ill-fitting armour, and you’re dead. Best to have it made to measure.”

“Is it made to measure for every guardsman? And what about the suits of armour scattered round the palace?”

“An ordinary guardsman takes each armour piece in standard sizes. He’ll maybe take an eight and a half cuirass, with size seven vambraces, and so on.”

“Couldn’t you fit me up in those standard sizes?”

“There’s two troubles with that, Tuerqui. For one, the armour’s all designed for men’s bodies. You’re a bit of a different shape. The other is that standard size armour isn’t really good enough for single combat.”

“You mean fighting on my own?”

“That’s right. You may be training as a chorus line, but the chances are that you won’t be fighting that way. Not standing shoulder to shoulder like a line regiment. There’s not likely to be more than two or three of you in any skirmish.”

“No, I suppose not. But how does that work?”

“Well – the guardsman can usually expect a comrade to protect his flank. If you’re on own your own, or with just one or two others, it’s entirely different. You have to turn every which-way or you’re dead meat. That calls for good armour – the best.”

“So the suits of armour about the palace – the blue and yellow and such – are fit only for the infantry?”

“No – most of that armour is for cavalry. They’re suits made to measure, by and large, for gents long since dead. The blue and yellow belonged to Robert III[2]. No one wears them now, except maybe for show – certainly not into battle.”

“So – what kind of armour are we going to need – steel?”

“You’ll have to move – a steel suit’d slow you down too much, best aim for lightness. Protect your guts with a light steel cuirass, by all means. Apart from that, padded leather is what you want. Mind it’s of a decent thickness, though.”

Imagining myself riding into Surrey clad in padded leather and light steel cuirass, it seemed real for the first time. With a sinking heart, it occurred to me that – so far – we’d fought only artificial targets with real weapons. That day’s battling with wooden swords seemed little more than a game. In reality, we were still far from the status of killing machines.

“When do we go to be fitted for the armour?” said Lisa-Louise, who had been listening quietly.

“I’ll have a word with Eric Marsh tomorrow morning and send a message with Fluff, when she goes to join you for the dance class.”

A few minutes later, I excused myself to give Fluff her third lesson in sexual technique. For the first time, I broached the subject of costumes and role play. Preferring to see her in the dominant part, I took for my example the Surrey warrior girl and the captured Lundin general. She looked very fine – better than me, perhaps – in the costume of Berenice Blackheart’s personal guard.

Another sleep brought me into Valday, and, after the schoolroom lunch, I was at liberty for the weekend. With a skipping step, I went to the dance lesson. My happiness was enhanced by the reflection that there were only another three schoolroom mornings before we broke for the Solstice and New Year. Entering the dance class, I thought that Fluff stood a little taller after her session as a warrior girl.

The rehearsal went well enough. With some difficulty, I brought a tricky piece of choreography almost to perfection. Whether by accident or design, some costumes proved unequal to the strain placed upon them. Once we were finished, Mrs Clay gathered garments with broken seams, and hurried off to the stitch room.

“Right,” said Fluff. “We can talk now, without Mrs Clay feeling left out. Lisa-Louise, Tuerqui, Tipsi, Diqui and Barguin – you’re to go to see Eric Marsh to be measured for armour. Bobbikins will see you afterwards.”

“What about us?” asked Sarah James.

“You and the musicians can go straight home. Don’t worry – you’ll be paid, all right. To save you hanging about, Bobbikins says that the girls can do archery practice, today, without music or dance moves.”

“Fluff,” I said, “I never thought to hear you giving orders like that.”

“It’s your doing, Tuerqui.” Then she giggled before continuing. “If I can say on your knees Lundin dog to Bobbikins, bossing a gang of girls is easy.”

“Oh yeah?” said Diqui threateningly.

Fluff giggled again before replying – “Some girls are easier to boss than others. Now,” she continued in a more serious tone, “I left a bag outside the door with some things for Tipsi, Diqui and Barguin to wear.”

“Why just those three?” asked Lisa-Louise.

“Silly – isn’t it obvious? Because they’re slaves – in harness.”

“Come again?”

“They can’t go to Eric Marsh in their dancewear – partly because there’s now one or two things missing for repair. Also because a dance class asking for armour would lead to questions. They can’t go in harness, either. That way it’d be obvious that Bobbikins is giving arms training to slaves.”

“Fair enough – and I wear my ordinary clothes.”

“Of course.”

“And me?” I asked

“You can change back into your schoolroom things, Tuerqui.” Her tone conveyed no flattering estimate of my intelligence, “it isn’t hard or complicated. It’ll be good, too – make you seem different from the other four. Don’t forget they’re irregular troops in need of armour, while you’re asking for something to serve as a masked ball costume.”

After changing, we set off for Eric Marsh’s armoury – an ill assorted group. Tipsi, Diqui and Barguin were in coarse shirts, leather jerkins and tightly fitted breeches – they looked like pantomime ruffians[3]. Lisa-Louise wore culottes and a severely tailored blouse in dark green slashed with red – knee boots enhanced the appearance of a lady about to ride. My outfit was the inevitable schoolroom ensemble of short grey pinafore dress, plain blouse, striped tie and white knee socks.

Eric Marsh greeted us – “Ah, your highness, and err… friends. Each of you must have a glass of my elderberry.”

The offer of wine had, since I’d reached perhaps my twelfth year, been his invariable greeting. Intensely proud of his spiced elderberry wine, he wouldn’t permit a slave to touch it any stage – not even to gather the berries. With some pleasure, I contemplated the fact that he was now offering glasses of the precious liquid to four slaves. Well, at least three, I reflected wryly, he would presumably not have counted me as a bondling.

“Thank you,” we murmured, taking our wine.

Surveying him critically, I could see why father called Eric Marsh a popinjay, and harboured doubts as to his sexuality. The general’s breeches, while of uniform blue – with a red and yellow stripe, were cut far too tight. His cap was adorned with a large scarlet feather, which put me in mind of Dashing Daniel’s hat. The tunic fitted almost as snugly as the trousers, and carried an extravagance of gold braid.

“What’s that?” asked Lisa-Louise.

Her question referred not to the wine, or the eccentricities of uniform, but to a corroded metal device. Much of its length was a tube, but there was an arrangement of smaller parts at one end. It was clearly very old, and looked unlike anything I’d seen before. It’s presence in the armoury suggested that it was, or had once been, some kind of weapon.

“We found several of these walled up in a cellar recently. This was the best, but it’s not very good. All the same, if we could figure how it worked…”

“Yes, but what is it?”

“It is – or was – a weapon left over from the Old Time, Miss Lisa-Louise. It’s a machine gun.”

“A gun? But the Seven Sages outlawed them – and the Red Knights slew the gunmen. If I remember rightly, they were tubes packed with explosive that shot out a deadly bullet. Isn’t that right?”

“You have it more or less correct. Men have been trying to re-create them for a long time, but it’s difficult to make the tube strong enough, the explosive just right and find the best way to set it off. And the Seven Sages were so much against guns that you’d need a really good one to make it worthwhile. Deploy guns, and you’d need to slaughter angry priests – there’d be riot and rebellion – and Daphne Deicide found out that, even in godforsaken Surrey, priestesses are not without power.”

“And this machine gun would make it worthwhile?”

“I really think it might, Miss Lisa-Louise, if only we could figure the thing out. Not that we’ve had this conversation, you understand, not officially. And, to business, I believe that you four… err… ladies need armour – and Princess Margaret, bless her, would like to copy you for her masque costume.”

“Yes – we want light steel cuirasses and thick padded leather.”

“But, I assume, nice thin leather, very supple, for Princess Margaret’s costume.”

“No,” I said. “I want mine authentic – just like the others. A princess should not have a shoddy, make believe, item – it would be unworthy of her. Worse – it would be unworthy of the Blood Victoria.”

“Whatever you say – we’ll make it thick and padded. As it’s for a masque, I expect you’ll want it to cover the top of your face – a bit like an executioner’s mask, with just two eye holes.”

“Yes – exactly!” I replied.

It occurred to me that a mask covering my RBS tattoo was just what I needed. On my way back to the University of Pain, it would be better not to have the brothel mark displayed. The lettering would identify me as not only a slave, but a whore. Showing it to guards would involve taking too many lives, probably including mine.

“Hold on, girls, and I’ll just take your measure.”

Hunting through his desk drawers, Eric Marsh located a tape measure. As he measured me, I realised – for the first time – that he was another to desire me sexually. Gritting my teeth, I said nothing as his hands lingered and fondled, especially on the bust and inside leg measurements. My father’s suspicion that he might prefer boys seemed wide of the mark.

The room smelt of the grease used to protect stored weapons from corrosion, reminding me of the crates of arms in the University of Pain hallway. As he measured, Eric Marsh whistled almost tunelessly – an irritating sound, like an ill-oiled hinge. The fingers of his right hand, supposedly double checking my inside leg, squirmed into the schoolroom knickers. This movement caught his elbow on the machine gun – I was pleased to see the complex mechanism reduced to little more than powder.

[1] There seems to be a double play on words, here. Wickedness of Surrey could either mean either the wickedness of the country in general – or women lying with members of their own sex (see Chapter 34, note 1). Coupled with this is a play on touched me deeply as meaning affected me deeply or physically touched deep inside me.

[2] Robert III, chief of the Blood Victoria YD 429-487.

[3] Pantomime ruffians – the pantomime was a humorous stage play. One characteristic was that the parts of ugly women were played by men, and young men by attractive girls. Tipsi, Barguin and Diqui looked like attractive girls playing the part of young male ruffians.

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