Convergence (43 page)

"Nothing for guilty," Clarion agreed with a smile, partly for Coll and partly for the brew. That sleazy tavern must have found the best vintage brew ever made.

"I'm going to keep enough alcohol in your blood to make sure you continue to look at it like that," Coll said, returning his smile. "I'll lower the amount a little when you join the lady to make sure you can perform, but a man's first time ought to be nothing but pleasure. If guilt gets involved, you can deal with it later."

"Later," Clarion agreed heartily, looking fondly down at his cup. Coll was such a fine fellow for a member of the lower class, but now that was completely understandable. At one time
everyone
was a member of the lower class, and Mother was sure to shriek and faint when he told her. Nobility were now obviously superior, but at one time. . . .

Clarion lost himself to his thoughts, but was pulled back briefly by Coll to remove the barrier of air he'd constructed. He did that with slightly less ease than usual, then sat back to enjoy the music and the brew. He was part of a group, and although the group was low-class and therefore not good enough for him, he still enjoyed being a part of it. He'd never admit that to Mother, of course, not with
her
precarious health, but he didn't mind in the least admitting it to
himself
. . . .

Clarion had difficulty keeping his thoughts on one subject for very long, but when a girl appeared and began to dance to the boy's music . . . Watching her movements took no effort at all, except that his discomfort grew when she wiggled her body in his direction. She was a very attractive young lady indeed, and Clarion wouldn't have minded joining her in that dance. Once the idea came he began to get to his feet to do it, but Coil's hand on his arm kept him seated and then he changed his mind. He would look foolish dancing with the girl, and gentlemen weren't supposed to look foolish.

After a while Clarion noticed that people had approached their table, but not just any people. Drowd and Holter and Ro were back, and all of them looked thoroughly satisfied.

"That was rather different, but pleasantly so," Drowd announced as they all resumed their chairs. "Now you two may take your turns—unless one of you has decided not to indulge after all?"

There was something sleekly ugly behind the man's tone and question, but Clarion couldn't quite make out what. Ah well, it didn't really matter, not when it was now his and Coil's turn.

"You haven't changed your mind about indulging, have you, Coll?" Clarion asked with concern as he pushed himself to his feet. "I mean, I would never dream of interfering with the decision if you've made it, but—"

"No, Mardimil, I haven't decided against going upstairs," Coll interrupted, also rising to his feet. "Drowd seems to have a—strange—sense of humor, but I think from now on he'll work to curb it. Won't you, Drowd?"

"All I did was make the most innocent of remarks," Drowd replied, looking just as innocent, but then he glanced around and shrugged irritably. "Oh, very well, as you all seem to think it was inappropriate. I suppose it
is
unfair to jibe at a man in his cups, and Mardimil is clearly unused to spirits."

"That,
sir,
is another untruth," Clarion said as he drew himself up, determined not to let Drowd get away with lying again. "I have been accustomed to drinking wine with dinner for many years, so imbibing is far from unfamiliar to me."

"It's the brew," Coll said hastily as he began to urge Clarion away from the table with him. "Many people have
_n
o idea how potent it can be. He'll be just fine, especially after we make our visit upstairs."

"Yes, our visit upstairs," Clarion said happily, no longer interested in remaining at the table and showing Drowd up as the liar he was. "Let us indeed begin our visit upstairs."

There was a small amount of chuckling from the men they left at the table, but Clarion quickly dismissed all that from his mind. His need right now was to stay on his feet and reach the stairway, after which he would concentrate on climbing it. But the floor of that low-class place was so ridiculously uneven, much more so than he remembered it being when they'd first walked in . . .

"Here, let me help you a little," Coll said from his left, and then the man's hand was on Clarion's arm. Oddly enough Clarion immediately began to feel better, and even the floor became flatter.

"Thank you, but I'm perfectly all right," Clarion said to Coll with a smile, warming to him more and more as time passed. "I may never have been on my own before, but I'm discovering a definite talent for it. Don't you think I have a talent for being on my own?"

"Absolutely," Coll agreed with a return smile. "I can't remember ever meeting anyone with a greater talent for being on his own. Watch your step
now,
we don't want any broken bones I'd have to help mend."

Clarion looked down to see that they'd reached the stairs, so he did pay careful attention to climbing them. He'd expected them to be rough and splintery, but instead they were worn smooth and even looked shiny. Wood did behave like that, he recalled, although he was far more used to marble stairs. But if he did fall and break something, he wanted Coll to tend him. He'd never liked that Middle practitioner of Earth magic Mother had always summoned to tend them both. The man was a fool who always pretended to be better than he was, as though everyone didn't know the real truth . . .

"Okay, here we are," Coll said, and Clarion raised his eyes from the top tread to look around. This second floor had a fairly wide hall with doors every few feet along the walls, some of which were closed. Lamps lit the area well enough to show imitation Denigan carpeting on the floor, a poor imitation in ghastly colors that were thankfully almost worn away. The walls and doors—and ceiling—could have used whitewashing at the very least, but Clarion lost the chance to comment on any of that when he noticed something far more important.

Someone—possibly Coll—had rung a small, tinkling bell, and now the open doors were beginning to show filled doorways. Girls were coming forward to stand where they could be seen, more unaccompanied women than Clarion had
ever
seen. Small, medium, and big women, young and not so young, dressed in . . . in . . . Clarion's body hardened so abruptly it made him grunt.

"Go ahead and choose the one you like best," Coil's voice urged, reminding Clarion that he was there. "Then you can join her in her bedchamber rather than standing around uncomfortably out here."

"Of course, choose one," Clarion echoed, finding that his fight for a bit more clarity of mind was actually succeeding. Clarion needed clarity and was getting it, and that made him laugh. The whole thing was silly, but he could scarcely wait to begin. First, however, he had to choose a girl.

Clarion was in such a state that he should have settled for the closest girl, but something deep inside refused to let him do that. He'd had to settle for far too many things in his life—like living without friends or a real knowledge of the world—that now he would exercise his first real choice. He walked from doorway to doorway and girl to girl, finally stopping in front of one lovely little pixie with long black hair and dancing green eyes.

"Dear lady, would you do me the honor of—entertaining me?" he asked her with a bow, the courtly words somehow coming effortlessly. "If you agree, I promise to be forever grateful."

"Oooh, I'd love to," the girl answered in a voice as sweet as her smile, offering him her hand. "Just you come with me."

Clarion took her hand and let her draw him into a bedchamber filled with lace and satin and perfume and softness, all in reds and pinks and white. She reached behind him to push the door firmly shut, and then she produced a delightful laugh.

"All the girls will hate me now, but I don't care," she said in that silken voice, looking up at him adoringly. "I'm just glad I'm the one you chose, and I intend to give you the most marvelous time you've ever had."

"Why would they hate you?" Clarion asked, raising her small hand to his lips. Her flesh felt so warm and wonderful in his hand, but not nearly as good as it felt to his lips. He had no idea that girls could be this magnificent, and was now eagerly looking forward to discovering even more marvels.

"They'll hate me because of what you said," the girl informed him, pressing herself ever more closely to his body. "You were so beautifully gallant, like a real gentleman, not like the rough bulls
they''ll
get. I know it's what they're here for, but even girls like them need a little niceness every now and then."

Clarion looked down at her, and it was almost as if he could feel the pain this girl had experienced in life. So small and harmless she was, and yet there were those who would hurt her with blows as casually as he had been hurt by words. Distantly he remembered someone telling him to be gentle with her, but the caution had been unnecessary. He'd never find it possible to harm her
...
or anyone even remotely like her. . .

"Come to the bed," she whispered when he put a hand to her lovely face to experience the feel of her silky skin. "I want to give you pleasure, but these clothes are in the way."

She drew him along to the large bed the chamber boasted, one hung about with gossamer curtains of pink beneath tiedback drapes of red velvet. She parted the curtains to let him sit on the white linen, urging him to lean back against the red and pink cushions scattered across the white. Clarion did as she asked, then had the delightful experience of being undressed by someone who was
neither his mother, his nurse, nor his valet
.

When she found his identification on its chain around his neck, Clarion expected to have to explain what it was. But all she did was remove it and toss it after his clothing, not even pausing to glance at it. Her lips kissed each part of his body as she exposed it, and by the time she was through, his manhood threatened to burst the flesh it was made of.

"I can see you enjoyed that," she told him laughingly as she joined him on the bed, her fingertips on his desire sending unbelievable flashes and tingles through his body. "Would you like to kiss me first, or would you prefer to be eased?"

Clarion had no real idea what she meant to do to ease him, but that made no difference. He took her in his arms and touched his lips to hers, once, twice, then took them strongly for a good deal longer. Her velvet lips answered his kiss with one of her own, passion bringing a moan to her throat. It felt so
good
to be doing that, so wonderful and right, even when he left her lips and pushed aside the sheer pink robe she wore to kiss one of her breasts. Her moan grew even louder, matching one
of his own
. Women were marvelous, and he couldn't imagine ever having enough of them.

When he'd finished tasting both of the girl's breasts, she squirmed out from under him, pushed him flat to the bed, then began to return the way he'd treated her. Only she did it to his desire, which quickly brought Clarion
beyond
the moaning stage. The pleasure was so intense that he felt he might well pass out, but the idea of missing even a moment of the sensation of her hand, lips, and tongue . . . No, Clarion knew he couldn't possibly allow himself to pass out, but stopping the explosion was completely beyond him.

He
lay
panting and throbbing for an unknown number of moments, and just as he felt he was returning to himself she also returned to him. It took her very little time to bring him back to the state he'd first been in, and then she was in his arms again, sharing another kiss.

Clarion wanted to investigate every inch of her, so he eventually pushed her flat and began to remove
her
clothes. She wore the strangest outfit he had ever seen, a corset which did nothing to hold in her breasts, a very small breech-sex in white cotton over her womanhood, cotton stockings in red held up by—
things
—coming down from the corset, and a sheer pink robe over the rest. Clarion touched and looked and kissed and toyed as he slowly unwrapped her, marveling at the differences between her body and his, and finally her whimpering and squirming changed to words.

"Please, love, please do it now," she begged, running her hands over his chest. "You're obviously made of steel, but you've turned
me
into pudding. Please do it now before I die of wanting you!"

She'd spread herself out as she'd spoken, her legs to either side of his body in an arrangement that brought his blood to the boiling point. Instinct howled in an effort to tell him what to do next, but suddenly Clarion had an idea how to avoid the clumsy gropings of inexperience.