5 comments/ 20282 views/ 2 favorites The Redhaired Herring By: Five_Eight A NOTE TO THE READER: A life-of-the-party rogue would be known in Ft. Worth as a good ol' boy but in London as a regular Jack the Lad. ********** I met her on a train. The Express to Sodom City had been oversold. I observed the girl struggling down the aisle with her valise through the mass of passengers. The chances of her finding an empty seat were nil. In a beret and cloak, the fabric of her satchel as worn as her clothing, she was nevertheless young and pretty enough to have smiled a gentleman right out of his seat for the rackety journey. Next to me a dreadfully imposing fellow crowded the armrest with a rude elbow. His abundance of luggage spilled catastrophically into my limited foot space. To top everything off he began to unwrap a cigar. I'd wanted to take the Air Shuttle into Sodom City but risked being recognized at the terminal. When those big busses land, the police are as thick as the passengers at all the stations, this time of year especially. High rollers from other colonized worlds like movie stars and politicians aren't the only ones drawn to the Slave Fairs. The illicit festival attracts a criminal milieu from foreign capitols and, due to our small solar system, offworld. A domino mask would not have been out of place, lots of folk don them during the season. But to wear a mask is to invite closer scrutiny of authorities. No one had been watching as closely a week ago when I had made my reconnaissance. Arriving by air with the fairgrounds and display platforms still under construction I managed to get a hotel reservation. Five days ago I booked a room prior to my departure from Sodom City and paid in advance for ten days to ensure myself lodgings. Stranded at the height of the season would've wrecked all my meticulous planning, and that of others. I had traveled back home for some final preparations, but now returned for opening night. By train. A bumpy and uncomfortable trip, but necessary to avoid being identified the second I set foot in town during the Slave Fairs. Make no mistake, there's always a layer of police or their agents watching every incoming portal regardless of air or rail. Security is less vigilant of visitors before the season even though they watch people arriving at the stations around the clock all year. I stroked absently at the fake beard glued to my face. It itched. The girl drew closer. A magician's Guild badge dangled from a slender silver chain around the handle of her valise. The bag was tattered enough to have belonged to her parents, the badge maybe passed on with the suitcase to a daughter on her way to university. My curiosity bristled. The pockets of my longcoat are filled with a number of items, few of which Security would be pleased to find if they shook me down. I cupped one of them in the palm of my right hand and tapped the man in the seat next to mine to get his attention. "May I offer you a light?" I asked kindly. My fellow passenger looked askance at me as I held my hand up to the cigar jutting from his mouth. I didn't hold a lighter but a magic charm resembling a sigil or seal. The object caught his attention, and held it. I deplored using the charm negligently, it wore down with every use and had to be recharged, but not by batteries. I intoned more than said to the man with the cigar, "You have a sudden urge to stretch your legs, do you not?" "How did you know?" he asked, amazed. "You desire to stand for the duration of the ride, don't you?" "Indeed!" he stated with conviction. He rose to his feet, the cigar clenched in his teeth, and began gathering up his parcels and baggage. Before breaking eye contact with him I suggested one more thing as he edged into the aisle of the car. "Offer the lady in the beret your seat before you exit." He did so; and one final admonition came to mind: "Remember, no smoking on the train." He nodded dumbly and I stuck the charm back in my pocket. The girl gave me a tight grin as she squeezed by me to reach her seat. She doubtless thought the man beside me relinquished it out of chivalry. I wanted her to think that and certainly not I'd engineered her sitting beside me. She got herself and her valise settled. I smelt the soap and shampoo she'd used recently. The light spray of freckles across her nose I found as endearing as the untamed mop of red hair. I wagered she wore the beret to keep her red curls out of her face when traveling, or working, not from some sense of fashion. A loud whistle blew. The old steam locomotive lurched away from the station beginning the four-hour journey. I couldn't keep my eyes from straying just beyond my knee to the Guild badge less than a meter away. The magician emblem, definitely. We rode in silence, the girl and I, she watching the scenery outside. After another kilometer I removed a small book from my longcoat and opened it in my lap. I didn't read it, couldn't read it if I tried, just flipped a page now and again. That tome never fails to incite conversation from strangers. Presently she asked me, "Is that a grimoire?" I pitched my voice unnecessarily low, not because I had to, the drone of conversation aboard the train would make our own indistinguishable as anybody else's, I merely wanted to sound mysterious. Perhaps a hint of intrigue would help break loose some of her secrets. "What would a young lady know of such things?" She said guardedly, "Not much, but I am interested in magic." "Are you now?" I remarked, leafing through the moldy leather book. I felt her eyes peering at the pages. "My grandmother used to be a great magician." Confiding in me already, I love my grimoire. "Would that be her Guild badge on your valise?" "Yes, it belonged to her, it's sentimental to me. Are you a, you know, uh, magician?" She said it a little loudly to be heard over the railway noise. I glanced around before answering but no one paid us any mind. "Hardly. I'm a collector, it's only a hobby, but an expensive one. How about you, are you a member of the Guild?" She stared out the window at the empty fields flashing by to give her time to formulate her answer. When it came it was defensive, and in the form of an inquiry: "What makes you ask?" Cagey, like me. I pasted on an avuncular grin. "Just making small talk, thought you might be following in your grandmother's footsteps, you're old enough to have an apprenticeship." I said, "My apologies if I intruded." "No, it's quite all right. Are you going to Needle City too?" "Only to Sodom," I lied. "On business." Not a lie. I saw the gears churning in her mind; the Slave Fairs began tonight. "What kind of business are you in?" she asked a little suspiciously. "Not slavery if that's what you're thinking. Like I said I deal in collectibles. Precious stones, small valuables like this book." I gestured with it. "Are you visiting Needle City?" More caginess. "What makes you think I'm going there and not Sodom?" "You're not the type to be going to Sodom, especially during this time of the season. Needle City is renowned for its cabal of magicians, your grandmother being one and all." I underplayed the city's reputation, a seething hotbed of wizards and sorcery was more like it, their atrocious Court rife with back-stabbing intrigue. The girl admitted, "I know somebody in Needle City, except I have to pass through Sodom to get there." "If you take the red train next time instead of the blue one," I said offhand, "you can go directly to Needle City. The red train doesn't make a stop there." She shrugged. "I didn't know, thanks for telling me." I let a moment elapse. "Your first time to visit?" Her nod told me it might be her last. She extended her hand to shake, smiling suddenly. "I'm Diana Duffy-Maguire." I pinched the front of my hat brim while giving her one of my favorite aliases, "Dr. William Faustnight." "How do you do, Dr. Faustnight?" "Just plain Willie please. I'm not very much older than you and the doctor honorific sounds stuffy." "Sorry," Diana squeaked. "Don't be, my fault for acting aloof. Wllie's fine." "Fine," she said, smile in place. Steel wheels clattered along the track, a constant rhythm in the back of my thoughts. As the Express lumbered on, we rode without talking, but not for long. "What are you reading about, Willie, if you don't mind me asking?" "Afraid I wouldn't be able to understand this if I could read it, it appears to be written in some type of runic script." I handed the book to her. "Maybe you can decipher it." She held the musty thing reverently in her hands and said, "Where did you get this?" "It's purloined," I said, casual, mysterious. She laughed. "Oh really?" "Really really," I insisted. "But like your valise, this has been handed down through generations of my family. I don't know who originally stole it." Diana paged through the book, fascinated. "Do you comprehend any of it?" I asked. "I wish!" "You wish for what?" "Some kind of power." "An odd wish. Why?" "Power might make me rich." "Wealth isn't all it's cracked up to be," I mentioned, "or so I've heard. Neither is power." "Well, I'd rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it." "There happens to be an intellectual concept that riches and power don't equate to happiness, not always." "I'm too young for such abstractions." I laughed at the redheaded pseudo-intellectual's thinking but asked a roundabout question: "Are you visiting granny in Needle City?" Diana shocked me by simply saying, "Oh no, my grandmother is dead. It's Sharak-Fauz I'm going to see." Had I not known better I'd've thought the police had cleverly planted her on me. When I recovered from the shock of hearing the name I ventured, "There's a Sharak-Fauz who's a sorcerer in Needle City. Not the same Sharak-Fauz, probably?" "No, it's the same one I'm sure. You've heard of him?" I said slowly, "Of course, he's rather notorious." "Do you know how to find him?" she asked eagerly. We were co-conspirators by now. "No," I lied, "Why's a girl like you hunting Sharak-Fauz?" "I'm not hunting him." No, but I was. "Let me rephrase that, Diana, why do you want to see him?" "I'm only joking, you had your magic book so I just made it up on the spur of the moment. My grandmother mentioned his name and I never forgot it. Sorry, I get silly sometimes, making stuff up. Thanks for letting me see this." She handed me back the grimoire. Diana was lying and she gazed out the window not wanting to talk anymore. The train entered a tunnel, the rumble of the rails a sudden roar. I needed to find out what she wanted with Sharak-Fauz. As much as I hated to do so I would have to use sex magick on her. With an 18 or 19-year-old girl like her getting in touch with her carnal emotions would quickly and most effectively dislodge the real truth. I palmed the charm in my pocket once more. "Diana, what do you think of this little curiosity?" "How beautiful." And dangerous, my lovely. She became ensorcelled by its swirling images like the man with the cigar. I let her look upon the amulet a while before employing the power of suggestion. It took longer for her than my former passenger. I instructed her, "Put your left hand inside your panties." Her arm moved. Her hand reached surreptitiously across the traveling cloak and came to rest on her knee. Diana resisted the suggestive qualities of the charm. I restated she put her hand in her panties. She pulled her skirt up enough to reveal the crotch of them but stopped there. "Put your hands inside your panties," I repeated. "Stimulate your clitoris until you have an orgasm." "Mmm," she moaned, smiling dreamily, her eyes slits, hands motionless. I felt bad about what I'd have do to divine the purpose of her visit but took comfort in the fact I'd done my best, refrained from wrapping an arm around her like a lover and coaxing her with my own fingertips. I'm a gentleman, sex was my not goal and if it were the Slave Fairs lay less than three hours ahead. If the girl didn't cooperate I'd be forced to take matters into my own hands, so to speak. After two more attempts she wouldn't budge, frozen there with faraway eyes. More than likely if I could get her to have an orgasm I'd be able to successfully induce the power of the charm. I glanced around at the other travelers nearby, the available seating had sorted itself out, only a few stood. Those not watching the landscape pass buried their head in a paper or engaged their neighbour in conversation. The tall train seats afforded her and me with a smidgeon of privacy. I leaned close to her as if we gazed out the window together. My fingers pulled her powder blue satin panties aside to reveal a set of shaven pubes. I figured I'd encounter a scarlet thatch! Her labial lips resembled the sticky halves of a glazed doughnut pushed together. The hood of her clitoris was hidden by the plump folds of flesh between her thighs so I slid a long finger inside her, delving until I located the rugged patch behind her pelvic bone. Diana gasped in pleasure as I began to massage the spot, accommodatingly parting her legs for improved access. A minute or two passed then her front teeth began fretting at her bottom lip. The cadence of her breathing changed, her eyes glazed like the open lips below. She squeaked with an orgasm, like when she apologized. I made her squeak twice more before I asked my first question. "Are you a member of the magician's Guild?" "No," she groaned, my finger now gliding languidly in and out of her. "What do you want with Sharak-Fauz?" "I'm going to kill him," she whispered. "Are you with the assassin's Guild, dear?" "No," she said in a purr. The scent of her arousal wafted to my nostrils, my own strained against my trousers. The downside of the procedure. I concentrated on my line of questioning. "Such an innocent girl plotting a murder, why?" "He drove my grandmother into exile, away from her friends and her passions in life. She went to a premature grave at 61." The intrigue-riddled corrupt Court drove many a magician out of Needle City into exile, a familiar story. And Sharak-Fauz sat high on the Court, giving Diana motive and, if left to her own devices in town, opportunity. My finger ceased probing. "Discounting the fact that murder is against the law, how do you intend to kill a powerful mage like Sharak-Fauz?" "A knife in the heart will kill any man in spite of his skills." "True enough however intending to stab a man to death and having the nerve to do it once the big moment finally presents itself are often opposite things." "What do you mean?" She shouldn't be asking me questions, the charm and interlude of sexual bacchanalia were failing. Not only that but the randy girl had grasped my wrist, tugging so I'd resume my fingering. "There's an increased sense of doubt and hesitation when the humanity factor kicks in. Even with a gun a normal human being hesitates. Have you ever shot anyone?" Guns are illegal in both Sodom and Needle City, which doesn't mean people don't have them. They are scarce, unless you're a copper. "No." "Then it stands to reason you've never killed anybody face to face with a knife either. That's about as up close and personal as murder gets, not letting a bullet do the work for you but doing it yourself. You strike me as too humane for the task." "I'll have the courage when the time comes," she squeaked. "How do you plan to get right up on your target?" I asked, withdrawing my finger from her slippery depths. She frowned, either in disappointment or at what she was about to say. "Sharak-Fauz is a lecher and pervert, me enticing him to cuddle up ought to be easy." Well, she had that part correct. Fate, divine intervention or coincidence cast the girl on the train my way. A classic unknown quantity, the proverbial cosmic wild card, Diana was an unseen variable who might upset my well-laid plans. To circumvent the possibility of her tumbling them into ruination I'd be forced to take preventative measures. Had I taken the Shuttle our paths likely would've intersected later rather than sooner. Fortunately I'd bumped into her on the Express before we got at cross purposes. Unfortunately I'd have to waste more magic on her. I couldn't let Diana pursue her plan of murdering Sharak-Fauz, I needed him alive for my plan. "When we get to the station, Diana, we shall share a carriage into Sodom City. Rearrange your clothing to be decent again." Again I felt a twinge of guilt but I had business to conduct in Sodom and, later on, Needle City and would stoop to any means keeping it from getting fouled up by anybody, idealistic young girls included. I must iron the wrinkles out of my scheme before the train arrived, ignore the by-product in my trousers from the previous operation with Diana. My suggestion might do the trick although she resisted better than most others: we'd share a cab for an unplanned side trip to my hotel room. I'd leave her there in a heavy trance while I carried on my business with Sharak-Fauz. Diana shifted in her seat. "Trade places with me. Good, the armrest detaches, I want to put my head down and nap and don't want it pointed at the aisle." "You're going to rest with your head in my lap?" "If you don't terribly mind, Willie." I moved into the window seat. She undid her cape to use as a blanket, lay down and threw it up over the beret covering her head. None of the other passengers noticed or had any interest. A good thing too, while underneath the cloak the wicked little minx unzipped my trousers and set my uncomfortable erection free. She comforted the stiffness in the warm sanctuary of her generous mouth and the depths of her throat. Over a particular bumpy section of rough track too much of me thrust unexpectedly deep and I heard a muffled choking under the cloak. When my moment came she dutifully ensured no stains on the front of my trousers would cause later embarrassment. My head swam and I exhaled audibly. How was I to calculate that equation in with my careful planning? After drinking down my copious outpourings not once, but twice, the girl dozed, my mind writhed like a snake cut in two. By the time the locomotive wheezed into the station dusk had fallen. When we rattled to a stop Diana lifted up, resettled the beret on her curls and pulled her cloak around her shoulders as if nothing untoward had transpired. I needed not to suggest we share a ride, she did of her own accord. I don't know if I was surprised or not. As we trudged down the crowded aisle she'd turned back to me and said: "Since we're both going into Sodom we should take the same cab." "I don't object, you're a pleasant traveling companion." "So are you," she said, lowering her eyelids cryptically. I stepped onto the platform eyes open for Security. The wind tugged at the flaps, epulats and belts of my longcoat, whipping the tails around the calves of my legs. Except for what I brought in my pockets I carried no luggage. I stashed a few necessities at my lodgings during my recent trip. A gust of air blew making me snug my hat tighter on my head. Some coppers nosed about as usual, but with head down and hat brim low I hustled Diana by the arm through the station. Because of the powerful magic lobby's influence the Court has an unhealthy stranglehold on the Congress. A technology ban of ten items is in place and The Law; explosive devices and firearms top the list, not a bad idea, but the other nine have kept this world primitive. The entire planet is a lopsided mixture of modern and ancient, science and sorcery. Movies exist, as do cameras, but not radio, telephones, television, or computer access. The Court's decree banning gas combustion engines forces the automobile industry to hawk its wares elsewhere in the solar system. Travel by horseback is popular; but the bicycle, for some reason, is not. There are approximately two dozen scattered spaceports where the big interplanetary and intraplanetary Shuttles take off and land. Since these air terminals are bastions of technology they are heavily watched as I mentioned earlier, guarded by Security on the lookout for saboteurs and spies. Train stations are less troublesome for a man wearing a fake beard like me. The Redhaired Herring Ground transportation is parallel to the stage of America and Europe by 1899. The lack of conveniences taken for granted on more advanced planets tends to keep offworld visitors away, but the lure of legal slave flesh sends its tentacles of temptation throughout the galaxy. Any world in the solar system has its different laws and customs, but the Slave Fairs are condoned only here. Outside the station Diana and I walked past a witch reading bat's blood in a space cleared from the litter on the ground. A coach was supposed to have met me, displaying a certain ensign so I couldn't miss it, but there wasn't a flag in sight. Another spanner in the works, I thought. The horde disgorged from the train depleted the Hackney carriages and Hansom cabs in line outside fast, a single Hackney remained but at an extortionate price. A carriage charged even more than a Hansom and I preferred the privacy of a cab. In my moment of indecision a party of six descended like locusts on the Hackney. As it trundled down the road with us left behind Diana swore. I felt like cursing too but kept a stiff upper lip. "Settle down," I said out of the corner of my mouth, "or else you'll have Security on us like ugly on an ape." She dragged the beret off her red head and raked her fingers through her hair. "I've got nothing to hide." "Then have a care for others around you who might, my little murderess," I smirked. Startled, Diana asked, "What did you call me?" She surprised me by asking. Her resistance to the magic aborad the train led me to believe she remembered the entire episode. I felt an odd relief she had not. I dismissed my comment as a jest. She wrinkled her face at me, uncertain. "What will we do without transportation?" I'd given the thought some consideration myself. "We are not without transportation. I don't see either of your legs in a cast. An evening stroll to get the knots out?" I suggested. And the loss of time associated with it. Fortunately my plan didn't hinge upon precision split-second timing. Already I had accrued an out of the way stop to dump the girl. Walking the rest of the way to Sodom would consume an hour, barring complications enroute. We set off on foot, the dark distance lit at intervals by smudge pots on the roadside. A black and oily smoke twisted heavily off the orange flames. Dried mud crunched under the soles of my boots. Diana had worn sensible shoes for the trip or walking seven kilometers might be a problem for her. With the train station half a klick behind us she felt at liberty to complain. "Dammit, if I step in one more rut," she groused. "Why didn't you commandeer the Hackney?" "Were you standing behind me waving a hundred bob note?" She snorted, "Robbers and highwaymen probably lurk along this road." "Probably," I said nonchalantly. I trooped on in silence for a few minutes, unsure if I'd won or lost our verbal exchange. We had an outside chance the coach with a flag headed down the road toward us, merely running late, but I didn't let on to Diana. "I'll carry your valise if you'd like." "I'll manage, thank you," she said in a neutral tone. "Who's that ahead of us." I'd seen the two hooded figures on horseback emerge from the underbrush too. "Let me do the talking," I muttered. The hooves of their mounts clop-clopped toward us. "Good evening, citizens," said the man in the lead. "Are you 'eading into Sodom?" "We are, I hope those horses are for hire." The other hooded man laughed an unfriendly laugh. He said, "Tell 'em these nags are government property, Carter." "You folks 'eard what 'e said," replied Carter. In the poor light I couldn't make out his features or the man's behind him because of their hoods. "This is a toll toad." "And let me guess, you two are tax men?" Carter said over his shoulder to his friend: "We've a shrewd one 'ere, mate." "I didn't see you stopping any of the carriages ahead of us," Diana blurted. Apparently the redheaded Duffy-Maguires are a spirited lot. Carter swivled his attention towards her. "What's in the bag, sweet'eart?" For a spitfire Diana ceased her chatter in a hurry. I slid a hand into my pocket and the second horseman cocked the hammer of an ancient revolver. A genuine government agent would be armed with a new one. "I assure you I am only reaching for funds with which to pay the tax, gentlemen." In my hand the well-used charm glittered in the near darkness. "Is this valuable enough to satisfy the toll?" I encouraged them to have a closer look and they urged their horses over to me. Whereupon I urged them out of the saddle and Diana and I mounted in their place, I with the added weight of a revolver in my side pocket. We put Carter and company behind us and made good time into Sodom, in spite of the girl's dearth of equestrian abilities. "I'm afraid of this enormous creature, Willie." "Would you rather walk? I can turn them loose in that field." I heard her curse vehemently under her breath and that ended that argument. When the glow of Sodom's lights burned ahead the fake beard began itching again, I'd meant to remove it once out of sight of the train station. Diana watched me peel it off my face and fling it into the weeds. She looked at my face closely. "Well, look at you, ten years younger." I thanked her, flattered. "The beard didn't do a lot for you." "It wasn't meant to, it was a disguise." "Are you hiding from somebody?" "Routine precaution," I said, rubbing at my jaw. "Security knows my face on sight." She said, "It's too nice a face to hide behind whiskers." "Thanks, but get on with yourself, I'm twice your bloody age." "I like older men. How old are you?" "74." She had a nice laugh. "That would make me 37, Willie. Tell me the truth." I told her, "I'm 35, if you must know." Actually 39. Why had I lied about my birthdate? "See, you're not half my age! I'm 20." "I'd thought you younger," I admitted, feeling guilty I had misrepresented myself to her. It hadn't been the first time. She asked, "Where will we go once we get to the city?" "To my lodgings. Do you have a reservation?" "I thought I'd make arrangements once I got here. I wasn't planning on staying long." "We can check if a room's available where I'm lodged," I said for her reaction. "Sounds good, if it's not too much money." "If worse comes to worst you can freshen up in my room then we'll find you another hotel." She mumbled what sounded like an assent. "I've an appointment to keep a little later." I continued just to keep the conversation going, "What are your plans your first night in Sodom City?" "A spot of supper for certain. Afterwards, I dunno, probably call it an early night." Gleaning nothing from her desultory and mundane responses I let the topic go. I only wanted her in my room without a fuss, safely out of my way. When we got to the Crooked Candle Inn where my room on the third floor awaited I gave the horses to the liveryman along with five bob. Before we got to the inn I thought about abandoning them but I might need transportation unexpectedly with the variety of kinks suddenly attached to my plan. An elderly man at the desk informed Diana he had no more rooms. I already knew and had no trouble convincing her to come upstairs with me. My lodgings consisted of a chair and dresser, a big featherbed smothered with quilts and, being a corner room, two windows. I asked Diana what she thought. "For Sodom City this is very quaint, I must say." "We're still in the lower middle-class outskirts, downtown is all rotunda domes and decadent sin." She stuck her tongue out at me, "Sounds right up your alley." "How would you know? We just met." She set her valise on the chair and wrapped her arms around me like a wife, not a concubine anxious to make her assignation, breasts pressed heavily against me. I plucked the beret off her hair and sailed it onto the dresser, rested my chin on her head. Before I got the wrong idea, and she'd been giving me wrong ideas lately, she whispered, "Thank you for saving my life." "When did I do that?" I wanted to know. "Are you suffering with blackouts? From those highwaymen, of course." "They'd've only taken your suitcase." "Would they have taken my dignity?" "You're a big girl, Diana, that goes without saying. This is Sodom City, after all, not a nice place for young girls traveling by themselves. Lucky you chanced upon me." "How did you get them to give us their horses?" This was drawing out too long for me and she just signaled my cue, might as well get on with it. I fished the charm out of my pocket. "With this. What do you think?" I held it up for her to inspect. "You saw it before on the train." Diana took the charm out of my hand, examined it at length and passed it back. "Expensive, nice. But how did it seduce them out of their mounts?" I tried to appear as unfazed as she. I'd been suggesting like mad she get a full night's sleep---and bloody fuck-all happened. The girl handed the dangerous and enchanted amulet back to me as if it were as menacing as a gumball. "It's magic, or it was, " I stammered. "Maybe I drained the power on the highwaymen." Yet I doubted that theory very much, it ought to still be able to hypnotize an army platoon. Was Diana Duffy-Maguire immune to the charm? I combed my mind for ideas on how to secure her until daybreak. I couldn't well knock her on the head and leave her here just as I couldn't have her turning Sodom City upside down searching for Sharak-Fauz. Letting her tag along with me was out of the question too, I hoped to catch up with him tonight. Bringing someone bent on sticking a knife through him would wreck everything as well as being plain bad form. While I was thinking she said, "I'm famished. Introduce me to an economical place to eat with good food." "Two mutually exclusive terms in Sodom," I chuckled. Her appetite caused an idea to occur to me, not a nice one but it might work. "I know a tavern within walking distance. They serve hot food all night, a simple bill of fare." "Is it kind on the pocketbook?" "Do you mean is it cheap? What does it matter? My treat." "Do I have time to change?" I said she did. "Turn your back." "May I look out a window instead of at the wallpaper?" She granted me permission. The window I picked overlooked a courtyard swathed in black, not much of a view. When I turned back around Diana was swathed in black, tight coveralls with all sorts of zippers and rings for fastening stuff, combat boots and a wide web belt from which depended a scabbard. I guessed she intended to spit Sharak-Fauz with the knife on her hip. Perching her beret on her head she announced she was ready. "Ready for what?" I asked. "We're getting something to eat not marching off to war. You're dressed like a commando geared up for guerrilla warfare." "Sodom City has a reputation as the worst cesspool in the solar system, not the armpit of the galaxy, but the very crotch! You said as much yourself! I'm a single girl. Okay? Don't tease me." "I was about to ask where your helmet was but I won't," I said to her with a half-smile. "Are you any good with that knife?" "See the crummy painting of the bowl of fruit on the wall?" she said, fired up. "Keep your eye on the green apple." Twirling completely around she snapped back into position with the long heavy blade in her fingertips. She let fly with an overhand throw. The knife streaked across the room, thunked into the picture, the quivering handle shuddering to a standstill. "Dammit!" she said with a short hop of frustration, clenching both fists. "Missed the apple, but I got the banana. Am I any good?" The banana was a quarter of an inch from the edge of the apple. "Uh-huh," I said. Too damned good. I retrieved the knife embedded in the wall for her. It had sunk deep. The weapon had a nice balanced feel in my hand, she could take a man out at twenty paces had she half a mind. On the way to the tavern I told her it would be bad manners to cut her food with it. She didn't smile so I left off teasing her. We quit my room without the question of where she would stay cropping up. After traversing a few streets we came upon people and lots of them, the overspill from the Slave Fairs in north Sodom. The lavish opening night is rivaled only with the more lavish finale on closing night. The ceremonial gong is rung and for the next nine days the ban on the sale of females into slavery is lifted. Slavery is legal year round but only once annually are slave sales allowed. The seven frenetic days between open and close of the auctions are exorbitantly festive for buyers and remunerative for sellers. Those wishing to rotate their stock or acquire new pets have license to do so. Parades, masquerade balls and galas fill the days and nights, along with uninhibited public lovemaking. A brunette woman in a top hat and black stockings, high heels and not another stitch staggered from the crowd. She crossed the sidewalk to put her arms around my shoulders for balance. The tips of her nipples rubbed against me. With the fumes of strong drink on her breath she giggled as she pulled a pair of panties through an epulat on the shoulder of my longcoat. She leaned into me, whispered in my ear and kissed me before capering off with a jiggle of buttocks. "Do you know her?" asked Diana. "No, but she wants to know me." "I'll say. Why'd she leave you her panties?" "Old custom. They're akin to the favors the ladies would tie on the lances of the Knights of the Round Table as they rode off to war or to joust in a tournament." "The ladies in King Arthur's Court did not give their panties away. Those were scarves and handkerchiefs." "They meant the same thing." "That who-the-panties-belong-to wants to fuck you?" I said without sniffing, "I wouldn't've put it in exactly those words but, basically, yes." "What did she whisper to you?" "Where and when to meet her, if I want." We began walking again, the panties fluttered in the wind at my shoulder. My companion asked, "You're not going to leave those there, are you?" "Why not? They were a gift." "From a harlot," she cackled, "and you wear it like a badge of honour." She snatched the undies from my epulat, tossed them on the ground. "Hey!" I said in mock protest, "That might be the only favor I get all night." She clasped my arm and said playfully, "Stick with me, Willie. Maybe you'll get surprised." I ignored her boldness. "Do I have to refuse the next pair?" "If you know what's good for you. What girl wants to be seen with a man who looks like a bloody walking lingerie shoppe?" I implored, "We're just acquaintances going out for dinner." "People don't know that and even if they did, it's me you're being seen with!" "Who am I to argue with such irrefutable logic?" After threading through the mob we came to the edge of the crowd and continued on. Our destination took us through some unpopulated streets. We strode warily down dark lanes with too few lampposts. To save time and footsteps we cut through an alleyway. Down any alley in Sodom City you might find the headquarters of the Caste of the Stranglers or one of the churches of the flagellants or a cutpurse kneeling over a victim eating the heart. We stumbled upon none of these however a trio of footpads detached themselves from the shadows in the middle of the alley. Diana went for her knife but I placed a hand on hers to stop her. "Gentlemen," I pleaded, "My daughter and I have been beset by brigands once this evening. Is there no honour amongst us thieves?" The three gaunt men approaching us hesitated. One of them rasped, "What do yer mean?" Out of a pocket I withdrew a thieves Guild badge, dangling it by its chain from my forefinger. "We are caste brothers and as such I'm requesting you gentlemen withdraw." Laughter rippled through them. The spokesman prattled, "Ye may be a brother and ye may have been robbed blind but yer still got the li'l missy there." "How about sharin' the wealth, guild brother?" said another one. The man hazarded a step toward Diana and his mouth suffered an untimely collision with my fist. He teetered back, hand across his lower face, blood seeping between his fingers. Swearing, he dove at me in a fury. Diana's knife thunked into his chest the way it had the painting in the room. The footpad halted in his tracks, gasping in disbelief at the speed with which he'd been undone. When the other two saw him collapse onto his back with a big knife sticking out of his heart they dispersed smartly and fled. Diana braced herself with a combat boot on the dead man's body and withdrew her blade. After wiping the blood on the rags the man wore for clothes she put it away. No one would miss or report a dead robber from the alleys of Sodom City. "Let's get out of here," she said, "I'm starving." She hurried toward the end of the alleyway. I lagged behind her, stunned at the way she'd just killed a man and strolled on. I ran to catch up with her. The mouth of the alley opened onto a block of businesses, the tavern I sought right across the street. When we entered she appeared unshaken. We found a vacant table in a corner and sat. A working class atmosphere, rustic interior and hum of conversation enveloped us. The downstairs area had twin rows of rough-hewn beams supporting the second floor. No fire burned in the central smoke-blackened fireplace of brick, a warm wind blew outside. The heady aromas of malt beer and food cooking mingled in the room. Diana remarked, "Smells good in here, Willie." I said, "The incident in the alley seems not to have spoiled your appetite." "Not one bit," she retorted, "I'm not the babe in the woods you think I am, Willie." "Obviously not." Back at the room she'd acted terrified of being in Sodom. "Was that the first man you've ever killed?" "Was he dead?" she asked, disinterested. "I'd say so." "Then he was." She changed the subject. "You have a Guild badge. Are you really a thief?" I am a lot of things, few of which I wanted to confide in her; didn't blame her for not wanting to do the same. "No, I'm not in the thieves' Guild, anybody can buy a badge." "Or steal one." She grinned. "You've got a badge," I reminded her, "even if it was your grandmother's." Too bad about how Sharak-Fauz had done the old girl. "You said you came from a family of purloiners, a long line." "Not my exact words. I get your point about being a thief by way of family. Or being in possession of a Guild badge." "Like my grandmother being a magician doesn't automatically make me one?" "Something along those lines," I conceded. "Fine. You're not a thief and I'm not a magician." I'd already asked once while performing sex magick on Diana aboard the train, but I asked again: "Are you from the assassin's Guild?" "What gives you that idea?" "Your reaction in the alley was so spontaneous I'd swear you had training, and plenty of it." If the girl got Sharak-Fauz in her sights he was a dead man. "I won't hesitate to use my knife protecting myself. That man would've taken me against my will had I not stopped him." "Typical of what any woman can expect visiting Sodom City. I'd've stopped him before laid a hand on you." Diana arched her eyebrows, "Thanks for taking a swing at him in my defense. You think a dead footpad will bring coppers swarming as a result?" "Not during the Slave Fairs, put it out of your mind. They've bigger fish to fry." "Fish sounds good," she mused, dismissing the subject. As she spoke a serving girl appeared at our table and knelt, naked except for a silk loincloth and slave chains. "Fish is not on the bill," she said to Diana. "The only food the tavern is serving tonight is stew." The Redhaired Herring I said we'd take it, along with a bottle of red wine, and the serving girl departed. Diana seemed taken aback. "A slave girl? What kind of place is this, Willie?" "You're in Sodom, slavery's legal. The woman serving us is not an employee here, not an indentured servant, but a slave, owned, and probably treated, like a dog." She rocked in her seat, unspeaking. I pointed to the far wall. "See the stair the blonde is leading the man in the derby to? There are alcoves up there rented by the hour, like the blonde." "This is a whorehouse?" "Whorehouses don't coexist well with slavery. They'd wither and die on the vine from a business slump here in Sodom City." "What will he do to her?" she wondered, watching them climb the stairs. "Anything he wants. With a slave girl." Diana retreated into herself, silent, even after the wine came and through the meal. She imbibed two goblets while we dined. Pouring her third she asked, "What are those alcoves like?" "Have you been dwelling on them all supper long?" "No!" she said quickly, face coloring. "Well, to be honest, yes. What are they like?" "What makes you think I've ever been in one?" "Tell me! Are there whips and chains?" The girl had me viewing her in a new light by damned near everything she said and did. "Pretty much what you'd expect, Diana, bondage straps and locks. I wouldn't know about a whip but probably a leather switch at least." "It sounds so so wicked. A bed?" "Yeah, or maybe a divan of sorts. Or cushions." "Do you think we could just peek inside one? For a minute?" She was making it easy for me, determined to go, but I had a caveat: "Remember the old adage about curiosity and the cat." "Curiosity killed the cat but," quoted Diana, emphasizing her next word, "satisfaction brought it back." "Seeking satisfaction, are you?" I quipped dryly, no leer. "In more ways than you can know," she said earnestly. I'd made up my mind back at the inn to secure her in one of the tavern's alcoves using the slave chains provided, tend to my business, then return and unchain her. With a little luck I'd also be able to lull her into a trance to blot out the passage of time. By my reckoning I was less than two hours behind my intended schedule. If things went according to plan my mission should be accomplished before dawn. Or I'd be dead. I feigned reluctance. "Diana, you're positive you want to see an alcove?" "I said I did. Are you afraid I'll get you alone and be a bad little girl?" "Atremble with fright. All right then," I acquiesced, "I'll make arrangements with the management." Diana seemed delighted. Was the poor girl in for a surprise! For someone who resisted the suggestive magic implement I'd used on her she couldn't have played into my hands more than if I'd written her a script. I summoned our serving girl to us, told her what we required and three minutes later Diana and I made our own climb up the carpeted stairs. "Don't expect anything fancy from the Victorian age of plush whorehouses," I warned her, "like velvet curtains or tables and chairs with scrolled feet." "This is exciting," she said like a kid at a carnival. Truly I had never been into this particular tavern's alcoves. The room I'd arranged for proved to be common and shoddy in my eyes; Diana's saw something perhaps new and unique. The walls were bare planks like the floor. A backless couch stained with sweat and Lord knows what else was jammed up against a wall under a pair of chains mounted in brackets in the wood. No window, no transom, just a door keyed the same as the manacle cuffs. Diana closed the door behind us with a soft click, looking around rapt with fascination. "It smells like sex in here," she said in a sotto voce undertone. "It would." Diana told me, "Lie down on the divan." "What?" I ejaculated, floored. "Please." One look at her told me she wasn't jesting. I didn't ask what she meant or what she intended to do or have done to her; I lay down like she asked. A tug at a zipper of her coveralls revealed her splendid rounded breasts. The girl never ceased to amaze me. Diana kicked off her boots and slithered out of her body suit. She deftly freed me after a tug at my own zipper. Diana was very wet I discovered when she straddled my lap; she commenced to ride. "Will you chain me later if I ask you?" she asked breathlessly. In my difficulty concentrating I think I said I would. She did most of the work, hips feverishly gyrating, bouncing, rotating. A prolonged shuddering caused her to stop, her body shivering, racked by sensation. She emitted a long pleasurable groan. I felt her muscles squeezing, milking me where we joined as one. Her squirming and moaning brought the desire flooding out of me. She gripped my wrists in each hand for balance and ground hungrily against my groin. In all honesty I can report she made the world swim before me. With my head still spinning she plucked away the key still clutched in my hand. I heard her fiddling with the manacles. "Crazy girl, are you trying to lock yourself up?" I gasped. "No," she smirked down at me, "I'm locking you up." Sure enough, a manacle closed on my right wrist before I was fully aware what she'd done. When the other bracelet clicked on my left wrist I realized I'd left it too late. "I thought you wanted me to chain you?" I said, lamely from the shock of what she'd done. "That's what I wanted you to think." She grinned at me to demonstrate how clever she was. She dismounted and began clambering back into her commando gear. My plan wasn't going according to plan. Diana was supposed to be the one remaining chained in the alcove for the evening, not me. "Ta-ta," she said with a little wave of her fingers. Then, to my utter astonishment, she closed and locked the door behind her. My mind reeled at being shackled in chains alone in the small room and the girl taking the key. The hunted thought he'd been the hunter! How slickly Diana Duffy-Maguire had turned the tables. A lot of people counted on me and now I'd put the mission in jeopardy. And for what? Foolishness. The vanity of a much younger woman expressing physical interest had bowled me over like a rank amateur, the amateur I imagined Diana to be even after I watched her calmly take a man's life. I had to laugh because the joke was on me, and a bloody rich joke it was. Had to laugh at the bloody irony especially. Had to bloody get out of here. What had that girl been thinking? Moreover, what the hell had I been thinking? I'd played the tour guide and resident know-it-all while she waltzed me around like a show pony. No time for recriminations, I had too much at stake. Fortunately Diana decamped without rifling the contents of my longcoat. When I got my thinking cap on I stood on the divan in order to reach the pockets. I fumbled around before finding my ring of skeleton keys, burglar's tools in copper parlance. The third one I tried opened the manacles and the door. I let myself out and rushed down the stairs. Slim chance she lingered in the tavern, she wasn't. I hurried outside, with eyes sweeping the street for her. I'd gathered my wits about me rapidly but she had a three or four minute head start. It was enough, I didn't see a single trace of her. Damnation! Nothing to do except get to the Fairs and locate Sharak-Fauz ahead of the predatory bloodthirsty Diana, and try to contain the damage. I started ambulating briskly to the Fairs. As I walked I removed one of the gel-masks I carried with me out of a coat pocket, an unadorned black domino. Gel-masks are sold as cheaply as half a bob in plastic sleeves, peel off the waxpaper backing and affix to the face, the thin layer of gel sticks to the skin holding the mask in place without the aid of strings. Away from the train station I wanted to thwart recognition in a more comfortable disguise than the less conspicuous beard. A mask may be more noticeable, true, but not in the context of attending the festival. No one accosted me on the way and fifteen minutes later I arrived at the fairgrounds. The Slave Fairs sprawl the length and breadth of twenty residential blocks and a city park. Vendors' tents had been pitched among mansions with doors flung open to invite merrymakers to join the party. The streets teemed with people. Before I got to my destination I received another pair of panties as a favor, a lady lured to me, she said, by my black mask and clothing. She told me a time and place then undulated away. A connection of mine in the underworld known as Jack the Lad eyed the silk streaming from my shoulder with amusement as I traipsed across somebody's lawn. Mask or no mask he would recognize me anywhere, plus he expected me. "Just one pair of knickers so far?" he bawled. "Yer must be slippin', Jimmy." He knew me by my real name, James Shea, but called me by my nickname. For my venture in Sodom City I traveled disguised and under an assumed name at the behest of others involved in my dark enterprise. The gel-mask should foil casual recognition. Although Diana and Jack would be able to pick me out of a crowd at a distance, hopefully Sharak-Fauz would not. Jack the Lad grinned from ear to ear when I stepped up to his colorful stall in the middle of a sidestreet. He ran a small booth from which he vended trifles when not fencing stolen property or operating a money laundering operation. "I was expectin' yer sooner, guv'ner. From appearances I'd say yer was charming a lady out of 'er knicks." "For your information it actually occurred the other way round," I said lightly but got serious straightaway. "The coach supposedly meeting me at the Express didn't. Do you know what happened?" Jack the Lad rolled his eyes a little, not his job. Fair enough. "Hope I'm not too late," I said. "Too late? Nah! The fat man only got 'ere an 'our or so ago." "Where is he now?" "Either at Gambizzi's or the Oracle," Jack said complacently. "That's what 'e intimated when I sawr 'im. 'e's rented a sedan chair for the night, four big blokes cartin' 'im around." "Bodyguards?" "Right, from Master Reggie's stable of goons. They pick 'im up at 'is mansion, guard 'is body at the Fair, then deposit 'im back on 'is doorstep. Four 'undred bob." Good information, but door-to-door bodyguards like Jack indicated shouldn't be problematic. "Have you noticed a young redheaded girl in a black jumpsuit and beret scampering about?" I asked, "A large knife on her hip." I held my hands apart like explaining the size of a fish nobody believed I'd caught. "Can't say as I 'ave. 'Oo is she?" "Trouble. Let me know if you spot anyone answering to her description please. She's more dangerous than she appears to be," I said glumly. Jack studied his shoes for a minute not unlike a schoolboy ashamed of a misdeed. "Bleedin' 'ell," he sighed. I asked him what was wrong. "Just remembered something the fat man told me when 'e popped round the booth tonight for a pinch of Starch," he said. Starch is a designer drug to overcome penile dysfunction; the fat man would want to test his new slave purchases once he got them home. Jack was saying: "Didn't seem to mean much until what you just said." "You sound ominous, Jack, don't keep it a secret." "Before 'e came to see me earlier Blubberguts 'ad put down some pints of tipple at the Bent Dwarf, priming himself for some fresh girls. 'e let slip 'e'd got 'imself a new acquisition a few weeks back. One with red 'air." My mind careened back on the way Diana comported herself. "Do you mean a slave girl acquisition?" Which would've been illegal at the time, not that that mattered in the overall scheme of things. "No, not a slave girl, guv," Jack pulled off his newsboy cap and scratched at his greasy head, "but a demon with scarlet 'air were 'is exact words." "A female demon?" "That's what the fat man told me." "A red-haired lady demon?" I weighed the possibility in my head. "Did he say why?" "For insurance durin' the Slave Fairs, and to smite 'is legion of enemies should one faction or the other try to catch 'im in an ambuscade." "Curiouser and curiouser," I mumbled. "What?" asked Jack, puzzled at not knowing my reference. "He knows he's vulnerable during the festival because he's out of his house," I said more to myself than Jack. That's why we'd chosen this time of season to strike. "Yer can't blame a man 'oo wants to personally inspect the merchandise," mused Jack. "He's hired bodyguards from Reggie, and a demon guardian angel who's lurking in the wings or overseeing other interests of his?" I asked. "That's the way I understood it." The more I thought about it the more sense it made Diana might've been planted on me, except not by the police, but by Sharak-Fauz. She had had me in her power and let me live. But I'd been circumspect with her about my affairs in town. I might have acted a fool around her, but at least not a namedropping fool. Had I wagged my tongue the way I wagged my cock I might be in my grave this very instant. Or maybe Diana was a red herring, a cutout sent to glean my plans or divert me. The theory held logic both ways. Either way though my prey would possess the knowledge I was in Sodom's city limits. Time to get cracking. "Are you able to leave your booth, Jack?" "I'll round someone up and we'll 'eave to. Are yer nervous?" "A little," I said, but I didn't tell him about what. "Only natural. They're all countin' on yer to do well, guv, me too." Jack's overwhelming confidence cheered me, but he had no idea how badly I'd been suckered. Angrily I told myself to snap out of it, don't allow Diana's cunning victory to undermine the rest of my plans. I vowed not to let her interference put me off my game, but in light of Jack's information I had to consider her an even bigger threat than I'd previously gauged. Jack got a scruff installed in his booth shortly and, after some last minute whispered instructions to the lad, off we went. Northwest of the district where Jack had set up shop the slave auctions are held in a massive park. That's where we'd find Gambizzi's and the Oracle. Revelers crammed the walkways and boulevards, the bridges and plazas. A stranger from the crowd, a seductive blonde woman, hugged me and kissed me lightly on the lips. She whispered to me as she stuffed a flimsy pair of red panties in the other epulat at my shoulder before retreating back into the throng. Jack the Lad howled, "That's my boy," but I kept on walking purposefully. Sharak-Fauz is a grotesquely fat man. My spies tell me he doesn't get out much nowadays but when he does he cuts a wide swathe wherever he goes. He chooses to drape his rolls of flab in the loudest and brightest silks the tentmakers can procure, from his gaily-turbaned head to his pointy-slippered toes. In the colorful mob he wouldn't stand out like a lone beacon on a black shore, but inside the confines of a slave tent would be another story. Hundreds of tents conducted auctions and not just in the park. Fortunately Jack knew the likely whereabouts of the fat man or we'd be searching at random all night. I hoped that was all Diana could do. She seemed such a neophyte about the ways of Sodom City though she might have been acting. Maybe she was in the actor's Guild. She's not an actress, fool, she's a bloody demon! Pay attention to the intelligence Jack gathered and clear your head, Shea. Just get on with it. We crossed a stream of people to Gambizzi's enormous scarlet pavilion. Red indicated slave trade. Was it symbolic the demon had red hair? Crikey, Shea, get her out of your mind. Jack and I paid an exorbitant admission to a ticket taker outside the tent. Inside two or three hundred people lolled about, drinks in hand, gleam in eye, with ample room still for a hundred more. He and I split up before we'd entered, I not wanting to be seen in proximity of Jack by Sharak-Fauz. He'd become immediately suspicious seeing the two of us together. The slave stock is kept out of sight in holding pens until time of sale. Cages set along the walls of the tent contained one or two girls apiece, a suggested retail price taped to the bars. Two exhibition stages in the rear alternated between females being sold to the highest bidder. On one of them a tattooed slaver stripped a black woman with striking blonde hair to better display her wares. When an audible murmur of approval spread through the crowd, I scanned it for a fat boy. I started with the front row because that's where Sharak-Fauz would stand. Sprinkled applause issued from the men when the slaver divested the curvaceous beauty of her final article of clothing. With a snap of his pony whip she obediently moved around the stage striking poses. His whip struck her buttocks and the girl flinched, pretty face etched at the intersection of agony and ecstasy. The crowd cheered at her response. When the slaver inserted a rude finger between her thighs and she gasped the crowd went wild. No sign of Sharak-Fauz. As I headed toward the exit quite a bidding war escalated for the nude slave on the stage. I ducked through the tent flap and Jack soon rejoined me outside. He spat on the ground, "There's twenty bob wasted, although the sights were worth seein'." As we cut through the tide of humanity on our way to the Oracle I asked Jack what he thought about purchasing a slave. "You seem to want one, lad. Why not?" "Storage is one factor, guv, I'm a man on the go, can't be lugging a girl all over creation. Upkeep is another: buying a slave's an important purchase like any major appliance; one's investment should be protected; a girl must be fed and watered and sheltered and clothed, albeit the latter only sometimes." "I never thought about it like that," I said. But I don't think about it much because I never owned a slave. The concept of owning a human being is reprehensible to me. I understand others do not share my viewpoint. "But, Jack, your objections seem minor to overcome." "To tell the truth, the little woman would fancy it none too much neither." "You never told me you had a wife." Our conversation was cut short by our arrival at the Oracle. Before us loomed a much larger pavilion than Gambizzi's, easily a thousand buyers could cram into the Oracle, a premier slave house. They sold only the youngest and most beautiful slave girls available in the solar system at the highest prices. A line stretched around the side of the tent, big enough to house a circus. I inspected the serpentine line for fat men and saw none. "Wonder how long the wait to get in is?" I asked. "No waitin' 'ere, Jimmy, I'm blackmailin' the ticketman," Jack winked. "'ere, follow me." The man in the sleeve garters at the admission booth waved us through. The first thing I noticed was how much hotter the inside of the Oracle was compared to Gambizzi's. More patrons and better stock. Unlike the other tent this had raised platforms instead of cages here and there against the silk walls. A girl was chained to each, no price tags; if a buyer had to ask how much, he couldn't afford her. Touching is allowed, a prospective buyer's right in any house of slavery. No one thinks twice about squeezing vegetables in the markets for the best commodity in the bunch and the same applied at the Slave Fairs. The Oracle auctioned from one main exhibition stage as opposed to two, it differed little from any other such stage except for the colour of the paint and its decorations. Against one side of the tent were bleachers. I took a seat on a bench near the top. The raised seating supplied a superior vantage point and the people there served as camouflage. I heard bids shouted above the dull roar in the place. Onstage a stunning pair of identical twins posed and preened. The master of ceremonies wore a crimson tuxedo and melodramatically cracked a long bullwhip, never touching the smooth oiled skin of the slave sisters. The gavel knocked down on them for sixty-seven thousand bob.