House of Lust (25 page)

Thetos looked down at the comfortable Metila, nestled under his arm.  “Well, you witch?  How about showing your compatriot some hospitality?”

“Mmm… I do.  Tomorrow.”

“Good.  That’s sorted that then.  So – what of your time here then?  What are your plans?”

Argan smiled and looked sideways to his tutor.  “Mr. Sen will no doubt be keen to make me learn everything he thinks I ought to before I get to my age of seniority, and Panat there will continue to teach me how to fight.  But I will also need to know from you, Governor, how to be a governor.”

“Oh, I’m not the best example of that!” Thetos chuckled.  “I’m an old grumpy retired warrior.  I keep these peasants down with a bark here and a snarl there.”

Metila opened one eye.  “You good governor, no lie about yourself.”

“Silence, whore!” Thetos flicked her nose and the woman wrinkled it and then closed her eyes again, smiling.  “Well, she may have a point, but you and I are very different people, young Prince, so don’t go copying what I do!”

“Whore?” Kerrin asked, wide-eyed.  “Isn’t that women who….?”

“Yes,” Thetos grinned.  “One of my terms of endearment to this slut.”

“Slut?” Kerrin frowned.  “That’s a bad name for a woman, is it not?”

Thetos smiled wider.  Mr. Sen leaned forward.  “Young man, the governor here uses words that I would not think you or Prince Argan here would ever dream of using.  If the Governor does not take offence to my words, he is a brash, rude old warrior who uses army speech, language that is certainly not permitted in Court or in normal society.”

“No offence, Tutor,” Thetos said.  “People have to get used to me or else they can stick it.  I won’t change and I’m Governor here, so I’m number one.”    

“Hmm, yes,” Mr. Sen said, non-committedly, and leaned back in his chair.  He gave the two boys a stern look, as if trying to pass on some message.

Thetos turned his attention to the badly scarred Panat who had been sitting in silence to this point, contented so it seemed to take the occasional sip from his hot drink.  “You must be proud of your son, Afos.  A good sign that he will be a dedicated bodyguard to the prince here.”

Panat nodded, his one eye sparkling with pride.  “I have tried to teach my son what is expected of him; the duty of a bodyguard is based on total dedication and self-sacrifice.  I will admit I was very concerned for his welfare – and of the prince’s – when they both walked out into the crowd, but as we saw we had nothing to worry about.”

Kerrin heard his father’s words but he remembered the terror he felt.  Would this be the way it would be with ‘Gan?  His friend seemed to take everything in his stride, dangerous or not.  He guessed the prince saw it as his duty to confront danger head-on.  If that was the case, then he, Kerrin, would have to learn to deal with the gut-wrenching fear he felt.  He hoped to the gods he could become braver, for what good was a bodyguard who felt so afraid of danger?

After the meal had finished, Argan retired to his room.  Kerrin accompanied him, his mind full of conflicting thoughts.  Amal was there and showed that she, too, had been frightened for the safety of Argan.  She didn’t mention Kerrin, but then the bodyguard meant nothing really to her, save that he was Argan’s constant companion.  Kerrin on his part hardly spoke to her and she had the impression he didn’t really approve of her.  Why that was she didn’t know, but if Argan was happy to have the serious-looking Kerrin with him, so be it.  She could put up with his disapproval; what he thought didn’t matter or make any difference to her being Argan’s personal servant.

When the three were together Argan insisted on speaking Bragalese.  Kerrin had learned the language, in a rudimentary manner, but rarely spoke unless he had to.  Amal thought he resented having to learn a language he didn’t really see as being important.   

“We were fine, Amal,” Argan smiled, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.  “I didn’t think the people were cross at me or Kerrin; and they don’t hurt children here.  So it seemed to me that the one person they would listen to was a prince of the imperial family who was under age.”

“Weren’t you scared, though?” she asked.  When they were alone Argan also had insisted she drop the ‘sire’ and so on.  “I mean, there were so many of them!”

“Well, maybe a little.  What about you, ‘Rin?”

Kerrin nodded.  He still had the little shakes around his body when he thought about it.  “I thought we were going to die.”

“But you came with me anyway, ‘Rin, and that shows you are a good friend to me.  I wouldn’t want anyone else there with me.  When we go into battle when we’re grown up, you’ll be the best to have with me.”

Kerrin smiled, but the thought terrified him.  The noise and danger of a battle.  Why did he feel like this so much?  It hadn’t been like that – not until the battle outside Zofela, when the Venn had been defeated.  Seeing that had made him realise just how dangerous and bloody a battle was.  It was different when being told about it in a room.  Seeing one first-hand was a rude shock.

He just hoped he wouldn’t disgrace himself when the moment came.  That was another fear eating away at his mind.  A bodyguard was meant to be strong and fearless, and he felt anything other than that!

“Demtro, the governor is asking for you,” Clora woke the merchant from a particularly erotic dream involving expensive wispy items of clothing and a sensual Clora.  “He needs you urgently.”

“Uhh,” Demtro groaned and opened both eyes, blinking.  “What watch is it?”

“First after dawn,” Clora said laying on him, her smiling face almost touching his.  “A messenger is downstairs; he knocked as I was making breakfast.”

“Oh, in the name of the pits of all the underworlds!” Demtro groaned.  “Can’t he wait until I’ve finished dreaming about disrobing you?”

Clora giggled.  “You do that anyway!  Why dream?  Shall I tell the messenger he has to wait until you get your carnal marital rights?”

“Not a bad idea,” Demtro pondered on it, then groaned again and gently eased Clora aside.  “Go make a hot drink; I suspect the governor won’t want to be kept waiting too long.  Breakfast will have to wait today, I’m afraid.”  He sat on the edge of the bed, his hair wild and unkempt.  “I look like I’ve been raped by an army of women.  Think it’ll catch on as a new trend?”

Clora walked to the door of the bedroom.  “It would look good on certain people, but it’s just not you, darling.”  She wiggled her behind provocatively, smiled again, then vanished out of the door.

Demtro grunted in amusement, then reached for his shirt, hanging on the wooden stand by his bedside.  “Damned nuisance, wonder what that weathervane wants now?” he muttered to himself.  He heard Clora speak downstairs, then a faint clanging as she busied herself in the kitchen.  He smiled.  Married life with Clora was what he had wished for.  She had gradually changed from the nervous, grateful ex-whore into a confident, loving wife, someone he adored and enjoyed the company of.  Not merely for the gratuitous love making, but to be with and share his life.

He was rich, successful, favoured by the ruling dynasty, and had a settled domestic life.  The only thing he’d change was to have children, but so far they had not been successful.  One miscarriage two years ago, but nothing since.  Clora had been heartbroken for a little while but Demtro had eased her through her crisis and she was back to her old self.  Or, rather, new self.

He tugged on his leggings, tight black stretchy things that were the current fashion, and he despised them.  However, someone such as he had to wear the newest trends as it was he who sold them to needy men and women who absolutely had to have the latest clothing, no matter how ridiculous it may seem to outsiders.  The rich had to be up to date.

One long sleeved outer garment later he was ready.  A quick look in the mirror and he grimaced.  He still looked like a refugee from a shipwreck. 
Ah well
, he mused,
needs must
.  He couldn’t keep the governor’s messenger waiting.  He went down to the reception room, or what he called the reception room, and found a slim, youthful looking man in the garb of the Niake Militia waiting, somewhat impatiently, judging by his body language.  Demtro had become good at assessing someone’s mood from their posture or general demeanour.

“Good morning, I understand you have come from the governor on a matter of urgency?  At least I assume it is given I have been roused from my sleep.  It’s my day off.”

“My apologies, sir,” the messenger did not sound in the slightest apologetic.  “But I was ordered to present you with this as soon as I could.”  He thrust out a sealed folded sheet of parchment which Demtro took hesitantly.  The seal was Evas’ alright, and the paper was of sufficient quality not to have come from any other source.  He ripped it open and scanned the message.  His mouth turned down.  “Present my compliments to the governor,” he said, slapping the message shut and sliding it into his jacket.  “Inform him I shall present myself at his office as soon as I have dressed properly.”

“But the governor said I was to escort you to his office, sir.”

“I’m grown up enough to know the way thank you.  Go.”

“But, sir…”

“I said go.  I wish to spend a few moments with my wife and I do not want anyone intruding on that.”

The messenger snapped his mouth shut and bowed briefly, stiffly.  Demtro showed him out and closed the door slowly.  He made his way back to the kitchen where Clora was sat at the table, a steaming mug of klee before her and a second where Demtro normally sat.

“Trouble, darling?” she asked.

“What else?  That hopeless fence-sitter Extonos has got another crisis and needs my help.”  He sat down and slid his hands round the mug before him.  He snorted.  “Crisis!  Extonos’ idea of a crisis is deciding how many sweeteners to put in his klee.  Moron.”

Clora smiled.  “So what is this crisis you’ve been asked to sort out?”

“Burnas, that pimple-arsed pain.  He’s going to keep his promise to denounce the emperor from his pulpit as an adulterer and betrayer of the sacred sanctity of marriage.”

“But he is, isn’t he?”

“Well of course, but you simply don’t go telling the truth about rulers and the ruling elite or you end up neck-deep in shit,” he grumbled, taking a sip of klee.  “You merely keep on telling them they’re the greatest thing since the orgasm and all will be well.”

“Oh, Demtro,” Clora scolded him, “don’t be such a sycophant.  Surely the people need to be told about the truth of things?”

“Those who do are always branded trouble makers and become outlawed.  Who makes the laws?  The very same people you denounce, so they merely make you out to be the bad guy and use the full weight of their administration to back them up.  Look, Clora, you and I are where we are only because we support the Koros.  If we suddenly jump ship and start supporting idiots like Burnas then we’ll lose all this, the house, my position, my licence, everything!”

“Demtro, I don’t want you to start lying to cover up injustice!”

“Oh, Clora, I’m not going to do anything like that – all I’m going to do is to try to stop Burnas from raising all kinds of grief here.  Niake has got a history of rioting and it wouldn’t take much for another to start, and who knows what would get destroyed this time round?”

“But aren’t you upset for the empress?  She’s your employer, after all.”

“True, and yes I am upset.  But it’s one thing feeling something in here,” he thumped his chest, “and another saying it aloud.  I know which side of my bread is spread, and I’m not going to throw that all away by supporting Burnas, of all people!  Burnas!  Pah, that insufferable gods-forsaken hypocrite.  Loser.”

“Loser?  The High Priest?”

“Former High Priest,” Demtro corrected her.  “He lost his place at the top of the Temple, lost the favour of the ruling party, lost a fortune in treasure.  Oh yes,” he nodded seeing Clora’s surprise, “he had a stack of jewels and gold at his former residence when he was thrown out of Kastan City.  Illicit proceeds of his position as head of the Temple.  Astiras pumped that back into improving the infrastructure.”

“I didn’t know that!” Clora said.

“Where did you think they got the money to bribe the big Houses as well as building roads, ports, walls, temples and the like?  The treasury was exhausted, raped to death by the Fokis and Duras.  They needed a miracle, and got it.  So, Burnas.  Major loser.”

Clora leaned back, a smile on her face.  “Oh, you’re such a bully at times, aren’t you?  That poor man has no chance against you.”

“Huh, poor man indeed!  Go fetch my low outdoor shoes.  It’s getting far too warm for my big ones now.”  As Clora got up to fetch his shoes, Demtro hurriedly pulled out a small key from his inside pocket, a brass key on a chain, and quickly walked to a side cabinet against one wall.  There were three drawers, all with locks.  Demtro said he kept some important financial documents there, and mostly they were, but there were one or two other things which he didn’t want Clora to see.  He thumbed through the parchments and found what he wanted.  Slipping it into his jacket, he relocked the cabinet and had returned to the table and his drink by the time Clora came in with his shoes.

“They needed a little rubbing,” she said, holding them up.

“Thank you, you’re a treasure you know,” Demtro smiled.  “What are you going to be doing today?  It’s a no-market day today, remember.”

“I know – I thought I’d go pray at the local temple.”

“Oh?  You don’t normally.  Got an attack of religion?”

Clora pouted.  “I want to pray to the gods to give me a child.”

“Pray to me – I’ll try my best,” Demtro grinned.  He received a thump on the arm in response.  “Ow!  Now who’s the bully?”

“Go, you wicked man.  I really don’t know what I see in you,” Clora said in mock seriousness.  She pushed him gently.

“Oh I know what you see in me,” the merchant affected a rakish smile, then pulled her to him and kissed her long and hard.  Clora put her arms round him and returned the kiss.  Finally they broke, staring into each other’s eyes.  “Ah, damned governor, he ought to learn to stand on his own two feet.  I’ll see you later,” he said and picked up his felt hat hanging from a peg and left the house, breathing in deeply and looking round the street.

There was the usual collection of people passing by, an occasional cart, and one or two felines staring at passers-by from high walls.  Then, with a sigh, he turned and made his way to the residence of the governor, Evas Extonos.

Evas greeted him with relief.  In his room were also the messenger who had come for him, Evas’ advisor Kisan Prelek, two guards and finally, the black-robed figure of Gaurel Branas, former High Priest of Kastania.  “Welcome, Demtro, what kept you?”

“Good morning to you too, Governor.  What kept me?  Breakfast, rapine, saving the empire from destruction, the usual.  So you’re having another baby, then?”

Extonos stood up abruptly.  “The former High Priest here is threatening to denounce our emperor in his sermon today.”

“So you told me in your letter.  Well lock him up them.”

Burnas got to his feet, spluttering with indignation.  “How dare you, sir!  You do not run this city, and you can hardly lock me up if I have done nothing!  On what grounds would you put me in a dungeon?”

“Oh I dunno, having a beard far too unkempt, for starters.  Can’t you afford a decent barber?  Look at you, you’re starting to look like one of those desert madmen.”

“This is outrageous, Governor,” Burnas protested, standing before Evas’ desk.  “This man is not taking the situation seriously!  I asked him to obtain evidence that the liaison between the emperor and that witch never took place, but he has failed to do so!  I have no choice but to follow my conscience and tell the populace that we are being ruled by a fornicating adulterer who shames his wife, the imperial House and the laws of our gods!”

“You’re keen on that word, Burnas.  Fornicating.  You like the sound of it?  Why not use rutting, copulating, humping?” Demtro located a spare chair and sank into it.  “Oh, Governor, you forced me to miss breakfast.  I’m ravenous.”

“But – its mid-morning!”

“And?  Breakfast is good any time.  Since I’ve not eaten so far today, my first meal will therefore be breakfast.  Get your cook to whip up something edible.”

Extonos shook his head, then nodded to the messenger who left, glaring at Demtro who seemed unconcerned about everything.  “So, Demtro, what are you going to do about this situation?  Do you have evidence that these allegations are false?”

“No,” Demtro admitted.  “Astiras almost certainly humped that girl in Turslenka.  Good on him, I hear she’s quite something.  Nice to have a red-blooded male emperor, better than his quailing spineless predecessors, don’t you think?”

“Merchant, you are the most irreverent, disrespectful individual I have ever met.  I am going to my temple to tell all about his godless behaviour, and nobody is going to stop me.”

“Before you do, Burnas,” Demtro stood up, breathing in deeply, “I think you ought to reconsider.  I mean, making an enemy of the emperor isn’t a sensible course of action.  I appeal to common sense – oh I know it’s often sadly missing these days but one must try, mustn’t one? – to stop this course of action.”

“Kalfas, get out of my way or I shall call down upon your head the wrath of the gods, and you wouldn’t wish that, even to a blaspheming scoundrel such as yourself!”

“Why, Burnas, you say the most delightful things to me,” Demtro grinned.  He turned to the governor.  “It must be love.”

Burnas spluttered again.  “Love?  Love??  You are deluded if you think I have any feelings of fondness for you!”

“But you do for others, don’t you?  For a man in your position that isn’t allowed, you know.  If the Temple got to hear of it they’d strip you from your position, even here where you’ve been exiled.”

Burnas went very quiet, his eyes boring into Demtro’s.  “You had best stay silent lest you open your mouth too much and get yourself into deep trouble.  I am not a man to cross, so choose your words very carefully.”

Demtro slipped his hand inside his jacket and then pulled out the folded sheet.  It had been one of his spy Renet’s crowning glories, finding out about Burnas’ private activities.  The merchant had kept the paper for a while now, waiting for the moment to use it.  Now was the time.  “Then I shall say nothing.  I shall instead present you with this.”

Burnas scowled and snatched the parchment, flicking it open.  He read the words and his face drained of colour.  His hands shook.  Demtro tugged the sheet out of the priest’s hands and slid it back inside his jacket.